


Twelve Nights Without Sleep

by Hamliet



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, F/F, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Romance, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-02-09 07:12:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 86,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12882774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hamliet/pseuds/Hamliet
Summary: At Washuu University, everyone associated with esteemed professor Arima Kishou's musicology class falls in love with the wrong person, capitulates to the demands of the ghosts of their lost loved ones, and finds sanity and being who you are are overrated. Literature professor Eto watches the chaos unfold with a smile. Seiaki, Uihai, Mutsurie.





	1. We Two Will Sing like Birds i' the Cage

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and thank you for reading! This fic will be primarily Seiaki, Uihai, and Mutsurie, but there is some Akiramon, and also some background ships like Touken, Ayahina, Tsukikana, Shiraiko, Saiko/Hsiao, and of course, Arieto. Additionally, some chapters will contain triggers as the story will deal with darker themes like abuse and trauma recovery, but I will put warnings before chapters that might be triggering.
> 
> Also thanks to my friend linkzeldi for the title.

_If music be the food of love, play on._

_Twelfth Night_

* * *

Brainless undergrads are the worst.

Ui Koori rolls his eyes as he listens to a group of them chatter about how they're taking the least challenging classes in order to be able to drink until they black out every night. He bites his lip to keep from asking how old they are. _Grow up._ He pushes his way through the clot of students clogging the path, heading into the large brick building named for Washuu Tsuneyoshi, the president of the university. His son, Yoshitoki, is head of the music department. Ui was never a partier. Not during his undergrad or his masters.

A golden chandelier glitters in the entryway, and large glass windows open up onto a lake behind the building. "Hey," calls a familiar voice. Ui turns to see Hirako Take, his friend from his days of getting his masters, getting to his feet. Hirako's black trombone case rests in the chair next to him. "Good to see you, Ui."

Ui nods. "You too." Now they're both starting their Doctorate of Musical Arts program under Arima Kishou, one of the most renowned musicians in the country. He even plays violin, just like Ui. "I didn't think we were supposed to bring our instruments."

Hirako shrugs. "We're not. I just want to practice after the meeting."

"Oh." Ui runs his hands through his bowl cut. Both he and Hirako did their masters here at Washuu University, and they're the only two students who stuck around to do their doctorates at the same school. He hasn't worked directly for Arima before, though, instead working under Aura Kiyoko.

Ui heads up the marble stairs and heads down a corridor, Hirako next to him. Arima said in his email there would be one second-year masters student and two first-year masters students who would also be working as his Teaching Assistants for the semester, plus a post-doc. Thanks to Arima's renown, his introductory musicology course always has multiple sections and a wait list.

Ui knocks on the door. "Come in," says Arima.

He pushes it open to see the inscrutable professor adjusting his glasses. Arima's draped in the same coat he always wears regardless of weather, sitting at his desk, drapes drawn behind him and casting the room in a dim light. Five chairs are arranged in a semi-circle, and three are unoccupied.

"Hey," says Mado Akira, a cellist he knows is a second-year masters student. Her father used to teach here, too. She sips a mug of coffee, the warm scent filtering through the air.

Next to her sits a boy Ui doesn't recognize, hair shaggy and looking as if he tried to bleach it and failed. He gives Ui a huge smile. "Hi! I'm Sasaki. Sasaki Haise."

"Hello," says Ui. Hirako nods at him.

The clock ticks. Ui checks his watch. Arima glances at the clock and frowns. "Takizawa's late."

Akira stiffens. Her eyes widen.

"It's not a good look to be late on the first day," Ui comments. Hirako presses his lips together in a grim line.

"He's on his way," Akira cuts in. "He's coming. He texted me."

Arima cocks his head. "I didn't realize you and Takizawa kept in touch."

"Just recently," Akira says, bouncing her leg.

Arima nods. "Well—"

The door bursts open, and a boy with wild white hair, wearing ripped jeans and a sweatshirt, stumbles in. Ui's lips curl. _This_ is a grad student? He'd expect one of the science students, the ones who usually look like zombies, to look like this, not a music student.

Takizawa raises his hand and stumbles towards the one open chair. He slouches in it. Ui's appalled. Akira looks as if she's contemplating kicking this man with her heels.

"Well," says Arima. "Welcome, all of you. My post doc, Amon Koutarou, won't be arriving until this afternoon, but he'll be taking the second section of musicology that meets Tuesdays and Thursdays. Mado, Takizawa, I'm assigning you to work with him, since that section is slightly smaller than my own. Ui, Hirako, Sasaki: you'll be assigned to the larger section. You'll have to hold review sessions once a week, and as needed before exams."

"A review session for each section or all together?" asks Hirako.

"All together. The material is the same." Arima details his grading policies next, and Ui nods, taking notes. He's honored to be able to work so closely with Arima. It's been his dream since he first heard of Washuu University way back in middle school, but he chose not to attend for undergrad because he knew, he knew, he would get in for graduate school. He won't let the man down.

Takizawa looks as if he's half-asleep. His eyes droop, and he stifles a yawn.

_Could you be more disrespectful?_

The door slams open again. Takizawa jumps.

"If music be the food of love, play on!" crows a high-pitched voice. "Oh." A tiny woman with wild mint hair stares at them. Ui's seen her around campus before. "It looks as if I'm interrupting."

"Yes," Arima says, leaning back against his desk and crossing his arms. "You are."

"Have any of them said anything so far?" asks the woman, strolling across the room and propping her elbow against the window. "Or are they just lapping up your words? Drink up, young'uns. You might never get another chance to absorb the incredible, life-changing wisdom of what differentiates an A from a B."

"Who are you?" ekes out Sasaki. He looks terrified.

"Yoshimura Eto," she says. "Literature head of department. I come here to spice up Arima's days because, well, he'd never interact with a human otherwise. You're students. You don't count."

Ui's eyes pop. He glances at Arima, who sets his papers down with a sigh. "Eto, I'm busy."

"You quoted _Twelfth Night_ ," Sasaki says.

A sly smile spreads across Eto's face. "That I did. Literature fan?" She eyes Sasaki.

He nods.

"Well," Eto purrs. Her hand lands on Sasaki's shoulder. Arima scowls. "Feel free to stop by my office to discuss literature any time. My door's always open to those who seek to learn." She waves as she exits. "Toodles."

Ui feels as if his head's spinning. Arima continues on as if nothing happened. _Focus_ , Ui chastises himself.

Arima dismisses them, telling Hirako, Ui, and Sasaki he'll see them in class tomorrow. Sasaki nods and leaves quickly. Akira gestures for Takizawa to talk, Hirako heads to a practice room, and Ui steps outside and smiles. The sun shines down, warm, and across the quad he sees students lounging and enjoying their last day before classes start.

"Hello!" chirps a voice next to him.

Ui jumps. He whirls around to see a girl with pink-hair beaming up at him. She hops up and down. "I was wondering if I could get into the music building?"

The girl's green eyes sparkle. His stomach twists. "It's closed today," Ui says. "Except to TAs and graduate students."

"Damn!"

 _You're swearing in front of me?_ Ui frowns. "The are other rooms on campus where you can practice if—"

"I know," the girl cuts in, glancing up at the windows glinting in the sun. "I play violin. Or I've started taking lessons. I'm not very good though."

"Me too," Ui says. "I mean, I play violin. Not that I'm not—I mean—well—I've got a lot to learn. I'm a DMA student, so." Why is he rambling? Why is his stomach clenching as he listens to himself ramble?

The girl clasps her hands together. "Just like Arima!"

Ui nods. "I'm his TA." His eyes catch her coat. It looks suspiciously like Arima's. "Are you a big fan?" _Fangirl_.

"You are?" She grasps his arm. "That's so cool!"

Her hands are warm. Her grip is firm. Ui nods. His mouth feels dry.

"I'm taking his musicology course this semester. I'm so excited." She chortles.

 _Oh._ Ui gulps. "Are you a freshman or a sophomore then?"

"Nope!" she chirps. "Senior. I've just been forced into biology. Kanou's my advisor."

Was this appropriate information to drop when she doesn't even know his name? "By your parents?"

"Not exactly." She peers up at the building again, squinting as the sun's reflection on the windows strikes her eyes. "Are you sure you can't let me in? I wanted to get the syllabus to start early. I'm going to work so hard. I'm going to get the best grades in the class and impress Arima."

She sounds the opposite of arrogant when she says it though. It's like a child making a wish. A smile breaks through Ui's face. "That's a lofty goal."

She adjusts a pink strand of her hair and shrugs. "Can I?" Her voice adopts a pleading tone.

Ui hesitates. "I can't let you in, but I can give you a copy of the syllabus."

Her eyes widen. "Ooh! Would you really?"

Is he allowed? Probably. Ui nods.

"Hooray!" she cheers. "I'm Ihei Hairu."

"Ui Koori." He digs through his bag. His binder almost falls out. _Dammit!_ "Uh. Here." He thrusts a copy of the syllabus at her.

"You're the best, Koori!" Ihei sings.

Ui laughs. And then it hits him that she called him by his familiar name.

Ihei clamps a hand over her mouth. "Oh no. Don't fail me, please."

"It's okay," Ui insists. She's too cute for him to let her feel badly. "You can call me _Koori_ if you want. Just don't let other people know or your classmates will lose all respect for me."

She grins. "Then you can call me Hairu."

He nods. His mouth is back to feeling like someone stuffed cotton in it. He probably looks like a fool.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then!" Hairu says. She waves, moonwalking backwards and holding the syllabus above her head like it's a trophy. "Bye, Koori!" She turns, literally skipping along the path. Some other undergrads point to her and scoff. Ui wants to kick a rock at them. At least Ihei Hairu isn't obsessed with being cool.

"Koori?" asks a dry voice.

Ui jumps. Hirako stands on the steps of the music building, case in hand. "I thought you were going to practice."

"I'm not feeling it today." Hirako glances after Hairu. "Want to go to karaoke tonight?"

Ui agrees, heading away from the music building. "Not too late. I want to get a good night's sleep. Class tomorrow, you know. Early." His heart picks up pace when he thinks of tomorrow's class. At least he knows one student will be enthusiastic and therefore unlikely to fall asleep in the lecture. Even if they should all be hanging onto Arima's every word, he does not trust undergrads to do the right thing.

* * *

"Hey!" Akira calls, marching after Takizawa the moment the meeting ends. He looks as if he just rolled out of bed, sweatshirt wrinkled and hair askew. "Wait!"

Takizawa stalls, leaning back against the white wall decorated with photos of Arima and Yoshitoki and their achievements. He jams his hands in his jean pockets. "Hey yourself."

She stops in front of him. Words desert her. "You bleached your hair." The Takizawa she remembers kept his brown hair immaculately combed and wore suits to exams. He was one of the best cellists in their high school, second only to her. He was bitter when they were attending the same college.

But that was so many years ago, and she hasn't seen him since the end of their freshman year. So many people left after that year, after the tragedy. The explosion.

Takizawa's eyes flicker over her face. "Yours is longer."

Akira's eyebrows arch. The weight of her elaborately braided bun sits on her head. "Yeah." The sun shines through the window behind her, too warm. "Why were you late?"

He shrugs. "I overslept."

 _So you don't care?_ Akira's not sure it's worth the effort arguing if he's just going to be this apathetic. But the Takizawa she remembers was the opposite of apathetic. Akira grits her teeth. "I lied for you," she blurts out. "I told Arima you'd texted me when really the first time I even knew you were back in town was when he sent us all an email saying we'd be working together!" And she contemplated emailing him back, asking him how he was, congratulating him on finishing school—somewhere. She didn't even know where.

But she couldn't press send.

"I didn't ask you to do that," Takizawa points out. He pulls his hair back from his face and grimaces.

 _Fine_. She could kick him. There are so many things she wants to say, black thoughts and red and orange, and she can't unravel them to speak a single word of what she wants to say. "Don't be late again," Akira warns.

"I won't be." He pries himself off of the wall, strolling down the hallway.

"When did you get back?" Akira calls after him. Her heart pounds. _I thought you were gone for good._

_I thought I'd never see you again. Either of you._

"Yesterday." Takizawa snorts. "If you have something else to say, you should just say it, Mado. You were never one for wasting words. I remember you lecturing Amon on that exact concept like you were a robot."

Akira's eyes pop. "Where were you? You never answered my emails or—" Damn, she doesn't like how this sounds. It sounds lost.

"You had a lot of shit going on with your dad and Amon," says Takizawa. "I found a new school. It was better for me. I also took a gap year before finishing undergrad."

She frowns. Mr. Tunnel Vision took a gap year in the middle of undergrad? "Why?"

Takizawa shrugs. He pushes open the door and exits the building. Akira hesitates, and then follows after him. "When Amon gets into town, the three of us should get dinner or something. Like old days."

Takizawa squints, shading his eyes from the sun. "You and Amon should go."

Oh, for fuck's sake. "It's amazing," Akira remarks, sidestepping a puddle. "Your personality hasn't improved at all in four years. It's actually gotten worse."

Takizawa laughs, and he almost sounds like the boy she met at fifteen in homeroom, who glared at her when she did better than him on every test. "Is Houji still around?"

Takizawa's old advisor, the main cello teacher now that her father's... gone. Akira nods. "I don't see him much, though."

"Hmph." Takizawa blows his breath out.

"If you wanted to stop by his office—"

"Nah," Takizawa says quickly. "If this is _your_ reaction to me, I can already hear his reaction, and it sounds better in my own voice than his."

Akira scowls. A breeze ruffles her hair.

"I'm surprised you stuck around," Takizawa remarks, nodding at the sprawling campus: the brick library, the ivy climbing the walls, the lake in the background. "Didn't you always talk about going to a different school for grad school?"

"I'll still go," Akira says quickly. "Get my doctorate elsewhere. I'm in the final year of my masters, so."

He nods. "Following Amon's path?"

Akira's chest tightens. Amon, too, did his undergrad and masters at Washuu, and then went elsewhere for his DMA. "We haven't talked in _almost_ as long as you and I haven't talked."

Takizawa cocks his head. He backs up towards the parking lot. "I'll see you later, Mado."

 _Okay then._ She turns and heads to the library to get some work done.

Their freshman year, Takizawa practically lived in the library with her, and Amon Koutarou, the handsome TA of her father's, the then-masters student, would join them and help them study.

She finds the same nook she used to use with them and sets her bag down. Akira digs out her laptop with its cat decal and brushes away a few strands of Maris Stella's fur. She logs on with her password—her father's name and birthday—and checks her email.

A message from Amon. _Professor_ Amon, now. A postdoc. Maybe he'll have advice for her on how to get into her top universities for her DMA. Akira taps her chin. She'll need to ask Arima for a recommendation. Or will Amon have to write it?

 _Looking forward to working with you two,_ the message begins. _I assume Arima gave you all the materials. I'll meet you both (again) during our first class, and we should probably meet every Thursday just for fifteen minutes or so to see how you're doing._

All business. Akira chews on the cap of her pen. She's not really surprised. Amon's always been all business. It's what her father liked about him.

Amon survived the car accident that took her father's life. Akira remembers being at home alone when she got the call with the news. She clung to Maris Stella. No one was around to hear her scream, so she didn't even bother to try.

The pen cap clacks as her teeth bite through it. Akira curses internally.

She survived one more semester with Amon and Takizawa, and then they both left her. At least Amon had the decency to say goodbye. He drove her to the graveyard to visit her father, little nubs of grass starting to sprout from gray dirt at last. And he was going to leave her, and she didn't want him to go and she was sick of being looked at like she was a high school girlfriend who flaked on him when they went to separate colleges, and she kissed him. Or, she kissed his hand, because he stopped her.

Her face burns. She doubts Arima has any idea. But it won't be a problem. He told her he was putting her with Amon and Takizawa because he knew Amon's connection to her father. And it is what her father would want. Amon's a cellist. Like her. Like Dad was. And Mom.

Akira stares at her screen. She slams her laptop shut. After jamming it into her backpack, she stalks out of the library and heads towards grad student housing. Maris Stella yowls in greeting. Pictures line the walls, framed in golden flower frames. Dad smiling next to her after her valedictorian speech. Her posing with him after her cellist concert at sixteen. And her as a baby with her mom and dad.

She doesn't remember her mother.

Akira crouches and picks up Maris Stella. The cat protests, writhing and shrieking. Akira rolls her eyes and sets the animal free.

She grabs her laptop and flips it open again, deciding to order curry for dinner. She needs the spices to burn out these thoughts churning inside of her, sticky and thick and confusing.

It's strange having someone come back.

An email pops up right after Akira hits order. She jumps and scrambles to it. _Well, speak of the devil._

_Hey Akira. I just wanted to say that I'm looking forward to working with you again, ( & Takizawa too!) and that your father would be proud of you. I'm glad you're still around; I wasn't certain you would be. Amon._

A lump grows in Akira's throat. She swallows it. She doesn't know what to feel. It's like there's something gnawing at her.

She drops onto her couch and closes her eyes. The year before her father died was rough—he fired another professor, Fueguchi Whoever, and he took some flack for it because his firing left his family in dire straits. But he died a month before she was supposed to start at Washuu, and by the time she arrived on campus, his name was emblazoned on a campus memorial bench. Akira doesn't like to visit that bench. It's near the lake. But she often visits anyways.

She shakes her head. She'll see both Amon and Takizawa again in two days. They'll teach a class together.

Though if Amon expects her respect this time, he has to damn well earn it.

She can only imagine what Takizawa will say. _I don't feel like respect_ or something, probably.

Akira smiles to herself. She flips her laptop open again and types out a message. _Looking forward to seeing you too. Akira._


	2. Life's but a Walking Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

Rain splatters against the sidewalk. Mutsuki darts towards the music building, head down and raincoat pulled over his hair. He clutches his books to his chest. His foot catches in a groove. The concrete surges towards him. Mutsuki yelps as his palms fly out to break his fall. His notebook flaps through the air. His textbook skids several meters in front of him.

 _Ow_. Mutsuki sucks in his breath, flexing his hands. His palms are skinned, red and raw.

"Let me help you," says a voice from behind him.

 _Huh?_  Mutsuki blinks. A boy with hair that's half white and half black scrambles to grab his textbook and notebook for him. He holds an umbrella over Mutsuki as he offers him the books. "Th-thanks," Mutsuki whispers. His face colors.

"No worries." The boy beams at him. "Are you going into the music building?"

Mutsuki nods.

"I'm a TA for the musicology class," says the boy. "Sasaki Haise."

"Mutsuki Tooru," he says, getting to his feet.

"Are you okay? That was a hard fall."

Mutsuki nods again.

"Come on." Sasaki smiles at him, reaching out to rub Mutsuki's shoulder and guide him inside. He closes the umbrella and shakes it off. "Terrible weather. I'll see you in the classroom, okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Mutsuki heads to the lecture hall, glancing over his shoulder. No one's smiled at him when he messed up before. Usually people would just roll their eyes and think he's an idiot who can't even walk right.

He pushes his way into the classroom, scanning for a seat. Towards the back, preferably. And there's one, in a row of seven seats. He hurries over and asks a boy with purple hair and two moles under his eye if he can slip by.

The boy huffs but tucks his legs back. Mutsuki squeezes past and takes the seat next to him and another boy with orange hair and huge grin.

"What happened to your eye, man?" asks the orange boy.

Mutsuki winces, adjusting his eyepatch. "Some sand scratched it."

"Shirazu Ginshi," offers the orange boy. "You moved into the Chateau, right?"

The overflow dorm. Mutsuki nods. It's not like he had any friends in his old dorm.

"I live there too. I thought I saw you on our floor. You have the single room, right?"

"We all live there," mumbles the purple-haired boy.

"I'm Mutsuki Tooru," he says. "And yeah. I have the single room."

"This is Urie Kuki. He's my roommate," says Shirazu, gesturing to the purple-haired boy. urie grunts at Mutsuki, meticulously writing the date in the corner of his notebook. "I'm the RA," Shirazu adds, and Urie scowls as if this is a personal affront. "This is Yonebayashi Saiko. Shirazu gestures to the blue pig-tailed girl snoring next to him. "Saiko, Urie, and I are juniors. Hsiao Ching-Li, Saiko's roommate, and Higemaru Touma, and Aura Shinsanpei. They're sophomores, and they live on our floor too."

Mutsuki waves. "Junior too."

Aura's hair covers his eyes. Higemaru waves back, gulping a cup of coffee. Hsiao sticks out her hand, a huge smile on her face.

"Is everyone here a musician?" Mutsuki asks.

Shirazu shakes his head. "It counts for one of our general requirements, after all."

Mutsuki lets out a sigh of relief. He does music, but he's not that good, and he knows it.

"It's weird I haven't seen you around," Shirazu comments.

Mutsuki tries to dry his damp notebook. He looks around for Sasaki. No sign of him. "I was an off-campus student until last semester." And then things went poorly once the other kids found out just where Mutsuki had come from.  _A place for severe juvenile criminals? But you're not even a juvenile anymore!_

"Nice. What's your major?"

He's not pressing. The tension in Mutsuki's shoulders dissolves. Saiko snores. "Literature. Yours?"

Shirazu says his is maths, and Saiko's is recreational studies. Hsiao's is also recreational studies, Aura's is theater, and Higemaru's is business. "And yours?" Mutsuki inquires of Urie.

The boy looks at him like he's a leech drinking away his time and attention from perfecting his schedule. "Business."

"Oh. Okay." Mutsuki shrinks in his seat.

"He's an asshole to everyone; don't worry," says Shirazu. "You aren't special."

Urie glares. Mutsuki wants to vanish and reappear in another row.

"Hello!" chirps another voice. A girl with pink hair plops into a seat in the row in front of them. She smiles at them. "You all live in the Chateau, right? I'm Ihei Hairu."

Shirazu flushes. The girl is very pretty, Mutsuki will give her that. Saiko snuffles and then sits up, blinking and rubbing her eyes.

"I'm a senior," chatters Ihei. "And I've been trying to take this class since I started here. I can't wait to see Arima. He plays the violin like me. It's gonna be a tough class, though; the syllabus is packed."

"How do you already have one?" Shirazu demands, rubbing his forehead. His hair sticks up.

"Was it posted online?" Mutsuki wonders. He's worried. If he's already behind—

"No, no," says Ihei with giggle. "I got it from one of the TAs yesterday. Koo—um, Ui. The one with the bowl cut."

Mutsuki peers down towards the front of the classroom. There's Sasaki, standing between a man with a plain face and a man with a bowl cut.

"Professor Bowl Cut," Saiko declares in a low voice.

Hsiao lets out a guffaw. "I like you. You're funny."

"She is," agrees Higemaru.

"Can I see that syllabus?" demands Urie.

Hairu hands it over, beaming. "According to the syllabus, there are two chances for extra credit. I'm going to do both of them." She bites her lip. "If I can."

"We haven't even started studying yet, Hairu," Hsiao points out. "How do you know you'll need extra credit?"

Do they know each other? Mutsuki frowns.

"Tutoring high schoolers, and participating in the memorial concert at the end of the semester," Urie says. "High schoolers. Ugh." His lips almost vanish as he rolls them.

The memorial concert. To mark the fifth anniversary of the incident that hurt all of those professors. Mutsuki gulps. He'd like to participate, if only for the sake of honoring those memories. No one bothers to remember his family, or honor their memories. Then again...

"Do you play instruments?" asks Hairu. "I play violin."

"Saxophone," Shirazu declares. Saiko says clarinet, Higemaru says flute, Hsiao harp, Aura cello.

"Piano," Mutsuki admits.  _Wow. So we all do._ "So we could all participate in the concert."

"Violin," Urie says, barely looking up from his tablet. "Saxophone's such an irrelevant instrument."

"Professor Kuroiwa plays it," retorts Shirazu.

Urie mumbles something that sounds like  _"my point exactly."_

Arima walks into the room, and the din silences. Mutsuki listens as he outlines the semester and hands out the syllabus. Hirako Take, one of the other TAs, give Mutsuki his. They have until the first exam to decide whether to sign up for tutoring or for the concert, or both. From the sounds of things, Shirazu and Urie definitely plan to do the latter, and Hsiao and Higemaru too. Aura hasn't said anything and Saiko said probably not.

"What level are you in piano?" Shirazu asks Mutsuki after the class is dismissed. Mutsuki has the next period off before literature. Hairu waves and flits off to join the group of fan students swarming Arima.

"I've been playing since high school," Mutsuki says, voice thick. Because he started playing when his therapist recommended it. It would help him.  _Give you something beautiful to create, Tooru. You can make something beautiful._  But when he looked at his hands, he just saw blood, and a monster.

"Since elementary school," Urie mumbles. Mutsuki scowls. Why is he being such a bitch?

"Hey Kuki!" calls a voice behind them. Mutsuki turns as a boy with thick eyebrows rushes up to them and slaps Urie on the back.

"Don't touch me," Urie grumbles. Mutsuki hopes they don't fight.

"Good to see you," chatters the boy as if he hadn't heard. "And you must be Shirazu Ginshi. Another saxophone player, eh? Kuroiwa Takeomi. Urie and I are old friends from childhood. Our dads were  _best_  friends."

Urie looks as if the next use of the word  _friend_  is going to make him strangle Takeomi. His face turns as purple as his hair.

"Did your dad used to teach here?" ventures Mutsuki.

Urie looks at him like he's a green fly. He nods and pushes past, stalking down the path. Gray clouds billow over the sky, but the rain has softened to a drizzle.

"He died in the when the professors were attacked," Takeomi says.

 _Oh._  All of Mutsuki's frustration with Urie Kuki vanishes. Urie must feel so lonely. Maybe he misses his father too.

"Wanna come over my place for pizza for dinner?" chirps Saiko.

"Hey, cat killer!" a voice calls.

Mutsuki whirls, but in the crowd, he can't catch the face who called that. His hands fly to his ears. Did he even hear that, or was it his brain malfunctioning again like the broken clockwork it is? His face burns.

"They weren't yelling at you, were they?" asks Shirazu.

"That's so mean," says Saiko, her lip trembling. "To lie like that."

"It was about Suzuya, wasn't it?" asks Hsiao. She nods over her shoulder.

Mutsuki glances. A boy with black hair and with odd red lines on his arms skips off, splashing in the puddles. Deliberately.

"Yeah, I heard he killed them last year. Heard they caught him and everything," says Higemaru. Aura says nothing, holding his binder to his chest.

"I was too quiet in my old dorm," Mutsuki says. He lifts his eyes and sees Urie paused nearby, glancing over his shoulder. Mutsuki's eyes meet his, and then Urie continues on.

"Ignore them," calls Sasaki Haise. Mutsuki freezes. He smiles at Mutsuki. "Rumors shouldn't follow a person like Suzuya or anyone."

 _Really? You really mean that?_  The idea that anyone could think like that gives Mutsuki hope. Rumors have dogged him all his life. Rumors about his father, rumors he was a slut starting in elementary school, rumors about his life at the detention center, rumors about the cats.

_Rumors or facts?_

Maybe Sasaki would say it didn't matter. No one else ever has.

"We can all help each other," Shirazu says. "Study and all. Except that Urie; he seems to be focused on graduating summa cum laude and doing it all on his own because his dad may have taught here as a business professor but he's still an asshole."

"But his father was killed," Mutsuki says quietly. "That's so sad."

"Do you know him?" asks Higemaru. "He seemed cool."

Shirazu curls his lips as if he's personally offended. "I had classes with him last year. He used to say that people who went to review sessions were nitwits who couldn't learn the material on their own."

"Are there review sessions for our class?" inquires Hsiao. "Like, Arima's notorious for being fair but tough."

"Yep," says Shirazu, glancing at the syllabus. "Thursday nights. Sasaki's holding the first one."

Mutsuki's heart picks up pace. He'll make sure to go to that one. Maybe Sasaki will have advice about literature too.

* * *

"Aren't you coming tonight?" Akira yanks her books out of her bag, glancing at Takizawa.

He brushes his shaggy white hair back from his face. "All five of us don't need to be there for every review session. You and Sasaki are taking it tonight. I'll take it next week with Goody Two Shoes and Blank Face or the week after with you again or Mop Head or whoever."

Akira grits her teeth. "I'm wasting whole sentences talking to you when it seems like you don't want anything to do with being a TA."

Takizawa grips the back of one of the seats in the row above her. He peers down at her. "So that's it, huh? You just don't want to be left doing anything on your own."

"Would you?" Akira retorts.  _You dolt._

Takizawa laughs as if she said something hilarious. "I'm always on my own."

 _That's your own bloody choice!_  Akira sucks in her breath. She grabs her mug of coffee and pours it down her throat. It burns. She coughs. But it's better than wasting the energy arguing with this walking headache. She could be spending that energy doing something else. Like planning the review session.

"Good morning," calls Amon Koutarou, striding into the empty classroom.

Akira coughs again, coffee singeing her windpipe. "Morning," she manages.

He nods at her. He doesn't look much different in the five years since she's last seen him. His hair's still dark and gleaming, jaw strong, shirt perfectly tucked into his pair of slacks, and his eyes are still guarded. She tried to talk to him after class the first day, but then she remembered Takizawa's coldness, and she couldn't bring herself to speak to him. She hugged her bag to her chest and stormed off instead.

"Review session tonight," Amon says. "Akira, you and Sasaki from the other section are taking it?"

She nods. Takizawa studies his filthy fingernails. Amon frowns and studies the class roster. "Akira, do you remember Yasuhisa Kurona?"

"I've heard her name," Akira says. Mostly because of what happened last summer. Her twin, Nashiro, developed alcohol poisoning at a party and died.

"Shit," says Takizawa, dragging his hand through his hair. "I saw that news story too."

"I tutored her when she was in high school," Amon says. "And I was getting my masters. Just—try to reach out to her. If you can."

Akira nods. "We will."

"Great." Amon clears his throat. He welcomes the students as they pour in and then gets down to business. He's an engaging teacher, Akira can tell. The way he talks, how he breaks down different concepts—it reminds her of her father. Kurona sits near the back, dressed like a Goth wannabe. But at least Kurona takes notes.

One of the students falls asleep midway through the class. Akira nudges Takizawa. He looks up. She gestures to the student, a handsome boy with dark hair.

Takizawa's eyebrows arch. "What do you want me to do?" he hisses. "They're adults; we can't control them."

Akira scowls.  _Wasn't disrespect something that set you off before, when we were in high school?_  She gets to her feet, stalking over. The new Takizawa might roll his eyes but the old one wouldn't have even brought it to her attention. He would've marched over the second he noticed and shaken that student, made him an example, earned the professor's praise.

Amon keeps teaching as if Akira's still in her seat. Akira slips into the seat next to the student. He snores lightly. And then louder.

Are _you even asleep?_  Akira grasps his shoulder. She shakes him. He doesn't move. Now titters echo through the classroom. Amon ignores them. Takizawa frowns now, half-rising from his seat.

"Wake up," Akira snaps.

The student jerks. He lifts his head, smacking his lips and rubbing his eyes. A mole sits on one of his cheeks. "Yeah?" His eyes run up and down Akira.

"You're being rude," Akira says. "If you can't stay awake, drop the class and let someone else take it. We've got a waiting list long enough for—"

"If what you want is for me to pay attention, then why didn't you just say so and then stop talking and distracting me?" sneers the student. He rests his chin on his fist. "Or are you more interested in making sure I make Professor Postdoc feel good in his wittle heart?"

Heat pools in Akira's face. "If you're that—"

"Shh, Mado," croons the student, focusing on Amon. "Clearly I need to catch up. I don't want to miss a thing."

Akira could scream. But she can't. She makes her way back to her seat.

"Do I need to kill him?" asks Takizawa.

 _Like you care_. Akira shakes her head.

"Furuta Nimura," says Takizawa. "Violinist. Music minor."

"You grade his papers," Akira manages. "Or I'll fail him."

"That bad, huh?"

Akira realizes she's gripping her pen so hard her knuckles have turned white. She blows out her breath. She's being ridiculous. She shouldn't care this much.

Class ends, and Akira focuses on the review session. She meets Sasaki back in the classroom at seven in the evening. The boy beams at her. It's their first, so as she expects, not many people show up. A green-haired boy who waves at Sasaki, a tall boy with long hair and a vacant stare, and a boy with pink hair and a smile. Akira works with Hanbee and Higemaru while Sasaki works with Mutsuki Tooru.

"I remember hearing your dad lecture once at my middle school," Higemaru tells her.

Akira nods.

"Your dad?" questions Sasaki.

"He taught here," Akira answers. "He was—a great musician. And teacher. Amon Koutarou was his TA when he was getting his masters."

"Wasn't he sued in the end?" asks Hanbee. He covers his mouth as if he probably shouldn't have said that.

"By a whiny professor who couldn't accept his work was shoddy," snaps Akira. Damn, where did that come from? And then he died. A year before everyone else died. "And the lawsuit was thrown out." And then the Fueguchis died too. A few years later. Or so she heard.

"His daughter goes to school here. She's a freshman," reports Higemaru. "Fueguchi Hinami."

"Oh, I know her," says Mutsuki. "She's in my Russian lit class. But she's only a part-time student."

If her father had been a decent professor, Hinami would have gotten free tuition just like Akira did. Akira's never met the girl and hopes she never does. She can't imagine why Hinami would want to go to school here. Can she really just not let go?

"I met him once," Sasaki says.

"Where did you go to undergrad?" Akira inquires.

Sasaki shakes his head. "You wouldn't know it."

The students leave, and Akira and Sasaki pack up. "We should get dinner sometime," Akira says. "Ui and Hirako too. And Takizawa." Not that he'll come. But they should try. She wants to fit in with them.

Sasaki nods eagerly. "It's strange, isn't it? Not knowing anyone."

"I wouldn't know," Akira points out.

"Oh." Sasaki snorts. "Sorry."

"For what? You've no need to be."

"Then, sorry for saying I'm sorry." Sasaki gives her a thumbs up. Akira can't help but smile in spite of herself. "You have a friend group?"

"It varies depending on who's here this year," Akira responds.

Sasaki gives her a knowing smile. "We could check out that Indian place. I've been wanting some naan bread. I can send an email to everybody? Maybe for some time next week."

Damn, he really is eager to make friends. Akira nods. "Sounds great."

"Good night!"

"Night," Akira echoes. She hesitates, and then heads into the practice room and grabs her cello, positioning it between her legs. She starts with scales, the ones her father taught her. The notes carry her away, back to a time when he might have worked in this very room.

"Up late, Mado?'

She jumps. The strings squeak.

Amon leans against the doorframe, tie half undone.

"You too," Akira responds. "Go away. You're interrupting me." It's amazing how easily the snark comes to her. Just like five years ago.

"How did the review session go?" Amon presses.

Akira continues to play. A hymn fills the air. "It was small. Three students. But at least it wasn't empty."

"Good." Amon leans against the wall. "How's Takizawa doing?"

Now Akira stops playing. Silence screeches in her ears. "He's—well, you've seen him in class." She bites her lip. "Amon, can he even do this? Why is he here?"

"Of course he can," Amon declares. "He's strong. I know he is."

 _I know he's capable; that isn't what I meant._  "He's depressed, isn't he?" Maybe she shouldn't say that. But fuck it.

Amon stiffens. "I don't know, Akira. But he's here. He's capable of getting a masters, a doctorate even if he wants to. He's strong."

Words, beautiful words, but Akira remembers stories of classmates falling apart. But all she can do is nod, grip her cello, and play another song. Amon listens.

"You're as talented as your father," Amon says quietly.

Akira's heart stops. He smiles at her.

 _Why did you leave me? Why didn't you let me kiss you? Why did you come back? Why now?_ She can't say any of that. Instead, all she can say is: "I'm applying to DMA programs this semester."

Amon nods, golden light shining against his dark hair. "Good for you. If you need any advice, let me know."

"Actually," Akira begins, getting up and leaning her cello against her chair. She grabs the bulky black case. "Arima says that since I'm working under you, you should write my recommendation."

Amon blinks, and then a smile spreads across his face. "I'd be honored, Akira. Any program would be lucky to have you."

She snorts. "Thanks."

"Your father would say the same thing."

_Is this your way of telling me that you still just see me as his daughter, as the girl who got drunk and whom you dragged home, the girl whose kiss you blocked?_

"Give me a list of places," Amon says. "I'll make sure you get your recommendation."

And all she can say is "thanks." He's a postdoc. He's teaching, and she's his TA, a masters student, and they're not even.

She wishes they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Urie and Shirazu are Done with each other, and Ui finds himself dragged to his worst nightmare: an undergrad party.


	3. Tempt Not a Desperate Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

"Is she literally asleep?" Higemaru's jaw hangs open.

Urie turns his attention away from his laptop. His eyes bug. Shirazu's hauling Saiko to class on his back. Sweat drenches his hair.

"She can't—miss any more classes," pants Shirazu.

"If she's dumb enough to sign up for this class and not wake up for it, then she doesn't deserve help," Urie shoots back.

"But she's our friend," Mutsuki says quietly.

 _Shut up, you useless hypocrite._ Urie scowls. Arima's going to hand back their first quizzes today, the ones he surprised all of them with last Friday. Shirazu was grumbling about _what kind of devil gives a pop quiz on a Friday_ , but Urie was ready. He studies every night. For all his classes.

Sasaki, that pun-loving TA, passes back their quizzes.

"All right!" Shirazu cheers. "Fucking A-, bitches."

Saiko just shrugs. Mutsuki glances at his.

"Good job," Sasaki tells Mutsuki, squeezing his shoulder. Mutsuki smiles. Sasaki holds out Urie's to him. He snatches it.

And blinks.

_64?_

"What the fuck?" Urie blurts out.

The din silences. Everyone stares at him. Urie glares up at Sasaki. "How—"

"I graded your quiz," Sasaki says. "You seem to focus on by the book answers. Think outside the box more next time, Urie Kuki."

His face burns. He narrows his eyes at Sasaki. "But—"

"If you want extra credit, Arima's going to be announcing the chance for students to tutor high schoolers," Sasaki says. "Plus there's the memorial concert. You'll do better next time, Urie. I'm sure of it. You're smart."

 _You condescending ass._ Urie glowers. He crumples his quiz in his hand.

"Guess all that studying by yourself didn't pay off, did it?" snorts Shirazu.

"Shut the fuck up, Sharkboy."

Mutsuki shrinks in his seat. "Please don't fight."

"Hey, I didn't do much better, Urie," calls Higemaru. "We should study together next time. Friday—"

"Not Friday," Saiko says, her voice a croak. She sits up, blinking and brushing blue strands back from her face. "There's a party then. Itou told me. We should go."

"Parties aren't really my thing," Mutsuki says carefully.

Maybe Mutsuki isn't so bad. Urie nods at him. But Higemaru and Hsiao are already nodding eagerly, chattering about the party. _Ew_.

 _I'll make him pay,_ Urie decides. He watches as Sasaki chats with Arima, both of them smiling. Sasaki isn't even a very talented pianist. Urie can't understand how he even got into a masters program. _I'll be the best in the class from here on out_.

A 64 can't please his father. Urie bites down on his cheeks. Blood fills his mouth.

After class, Urie grabs his bag and hightails it out of there. He marches towards one of the practice rooms and grabs his violin. But he's too angry, and the notes aren't calming him down but rather stoking the flames.

The door bursts open. Urie freezes. He curses.

A professor he doesn't recognize blinks, adjusting his glasses. "My apologies. I didn't realize this room was in use."

 _Are you an idiot?_ If this man weren't a professor, Urie would let him have it.

"Urie Kuki, yes?" asks the man, cocking his head.

Urie frowns. "Yes."

"I'm Washuu Matsuri," says the man, crossing the room to shake Urie's hand. Urie grips too tightly. "Grandson of Tsuneyoshi."

The professor who started the music program here, now principal. Urie nods. "And you teach?"

"Well, yes. I'm a postdoc." Matsuri clears his throat. "I remember your father, Urie, when I was young. He participated in the orchestra despite teaching business. And now it seems like you're following in his footsteps."

Urie swallows. He nods.

"How are your classes going?" Matsuri asks.

"Fine." Urie stiffens.

"I saw that you applied for musicology and told my father you had to get in; after all, Urie Mikito helped us out so much that it didn't seem fair to deny his son the opportunity," Matsuri continues with a chuckle. "Arima's a great professor."

Urie nods. "The TAs, though." He stops himself.

"Hm?" Matsuri frowns. "Ui Koori is a bit pretentious and not nearly as well accomplished as he thinks he is, and Hirako's fairly average himself. Sasaki's new. His talents seem… average too, but I'm told Arima himself lobbied for his admission."

Urie nods. Arima lobbied for Sasaki's admission? Why? Can Arima really see something special in Sasaki?

Or is there some other reason?

"How is everything else at college?" Matsuri asks. "You have friends? Go to parties?"

"I'm a junior," Urie states. He measures his tone. If he gets Matsuri to like him, he can maybe get a recommendation from him should Urie want to pursue music farther. Either way, Matsuri's last name inspires respect in the world. "Yes. I'm—going to a party tomorrow night." _I guess._

"Good." Matsuri nods. "It's important to maintain a balance."

"Mm."

"See you around, Urie." Matsuri clamps his hand on Urie's shoulder. Urie nods and stalks out of the building.

He remembers Kuroiwa coming over, Takeomi in tow, to tell him. As if maybe Takeomi would be a buffer. _Your father didn't make it, Urie._ Murdered, but not on purpose, from carelessness rather than callousness. The cops concluded it was a mistaken explosion; no one could determine what precisely happened. A few professors died inside the building, and Dad, he was on his way home from a staff meeting. Anyone else could have been killed, but the stray piece of brick flying from the building had to hit him in the head instead. And it hit him because he grabbed Kuroiwa and pulled him down. He died for his friend.

Urie glances across the quad. He can see twinkling lights from an office building at the bottom of the hill. His father's office was in that building.

If he was still alive, Urie might go and complain to him about his 64. See what his father knew about this overrated Sasaki.

But he's dead.

* * *

Ui exits his office, locking the door behind him. He stifles a yawn. He spent the past few hours grading the first papers from the students.

Ui jogs down the stairs. The sound of violin music dances through the building. Ui frowns. The practice rooms are soundproof. He hesitates, and then strolls down the hallway to find a practice room with the door cracked. And inside he recognizes Ihei's pink hair. She did well on her quiz, and her first paper. There are a few things she can improve on. He wrote her plenty of feedback. If she's this talented, he doesn't understand why she isn't majoring in music. Ui loses himself in the composition she's playing. It reminds him of when he was a boy and would gallop across fields on horseback—

She hits a wrong note and swears. Ui flinches, thrown from his daydream.

And then she stiffens. Ui gulps.

Hairu turns around to see him standing there.

Ui cringes. It's not as creepy as it looks. He hopes. "I'm sorry—your door was cracked, so I heard the music—"

"I fucked up," Hairu says, frowning as she studies the instrument.

"It's a tricky piece, and you almost had it," Ui says. He taps his fingers against his thigh. Oh, what the hell? He steps into the room.

"Thanks," she says. She beams up at him. "How did I do on the paper? Do you know?"

"Well," Ui answers, before kicking himself. He shouldn't tell her before he hands the grades into Arima. "I think."

"I hope so," Hairu says with a sigh. She packs up her violin. "I don't want to let Arima down."

"You didn't," Ui says, against his better judgment. He steps closer to her. "You did well. I know it. I saw your grade."

"Really?" Her face breaks into a grin. She claps her hands together like a child. "I just want to make Arima proud, and this is—"

"Do you know him?" Ui inquires, confused.

"Sort of. We graduated from the same homeschool group. Family connection or whatever. We're not related though." Hairu does a little jig. "I'm so happy, Koori! You made my night."

Ui's mouth goes dry. He nods.

Hairu grabs her case and locks up, humming to herself as she gets ready to leave. "I'm putting in so many hours, Koori, into practicing, into studying. I'm going to start coming to every review session. I'm going to excel. You'll see."

He notices blisters on her fingers as he follows her outside the building. "Not if you don't wear band-aids, you won't."

Hairu curls her fingers up. "It's okay. I'll develop calluses."

"You'll develop tetanus is what you'll develop."

Hairu rolls her eyes. "You're an old hypochondriac, aren't you, Koori?" Her stomach growls.

Ui frowns. Stars glitter above them. He shouldn't ask her this. He should just. Let her. Figure it out. She's smart. She's capable. And yet, the words rise up anyways. "Isn't the student center closed?"

Hairu checks the time on her phone. "Shit!"

"You have a car to leave campus?" he asks. "Or order food?"

Hairu clasps her blistered fingers to her face. "I have noodles. I think. Or I can borrow some from someone down the hall."

 _Don't you dare offer, Koori. Don't you dare._ "I ate already, but I could have some dessert. I can take you to get food if you want. You can pay me back later," he adds quickly. _Oh fuck, what am I doing?_

"Do you like melon buns?" Hairu asks.

Within fifteen minutes, Ui's sitting at a tiny table tucked into a corner at a bakery, eating what tastes like pure sugar. Hairu's chowing down her second. "It fuels me," she declares, chewing with her mouth open.

"Eat with your mouth closed," Ui says automatically.

"Yes, sir." Hairu mocks salutes.

"Hey, just because I told you you could call me _Koori_ doesn't give you leave to be so sassy," Ui retorts. His heart flutters.

"I didn't call you _Koori_ , though," Hairu says, blinking innocently. "I called you _sir_. Sir Koori the Proper."

Ui rolls his eyes. He stifles a snort.

"Next thing you know you'll be telling me this isn't a proper dinner because of the lack of protein," Hairu complains.

Dishes clang in the background. Ui leans back in his chair. "It's not a proper dinner."

"Oh, come on." Hairu stuffs another piece into her mouth. This time she swallows before speaking. "Didn't you ever survive on coffee and blood as an undergrad?"

Ui shakes his head. He straightens. "I never even went to a party. I was focused on school."

"Well," says Hairu. "I'm focused on school too. But that means my dietary habits go out the window." She finishes her melon bun. "I went to one party. Wasn't really my scene. Staying up until four am drinking and then vomiting the next morning? No thanks."

"Exactly," says Ui, nodding. She's mature in some ways.

"But I had to go to one," Hairu says. "Because everyone has to go to one. It's, like, law."

"I'm not a criminal," Ui retorts. He pulls out his card and pays.

Hairu smirks as she gets into his car. Ui's relieved everything's in its place, neat, and an air freshener hangs from the rearview mirror. "But everyone's going to Itou's party tonight."

"No," Ui replies, turning the keys in the ignition.

"Why not?" Hairu asks. "We don't have to stay long. Just an hour or so, so you can say you experienced an undergrad party."

"You shouldn't go," Ui says. "Those things can get wild."

"They're only as wild as as much as you drink," Hairu says. "I've learned my lesson. One beer."

"That's not going to help your food issue."

"What, do you have something early tomorrow?" Hairu asks. "It's _Saturday_."

"I have a meeting at ten with Arima," Ui says, pulling out of the lot. "And the other TAs."

"Pish posh, ten isn't that early."

Ui slides his eyes in her direction as he winds the car along the lonely roads back to campus. "Why does it matter to you whether I go to a stupid party?"

"Because," Hairu says, leaning towards him. Her green eyes gleam. A dash of sugar is encrusted on the corner of her lips. "You got me food because you saw I was hungry, and Koori, I can tell what you need too. You need some fun."

"I have plenty of fun!" He does karaoke. And he complains. To Hirako. Who mostly looks bored.

But Hairu looks anything but bored. She's grinning at him. Ui's heart starts to pound. "All right."

* * *

An undergrad party is everything Ui thought he would hate and more. Disgust pulsates through him with every beat of the music. He wrinkles his nose as the smell of sweat and stale beer wafts through the air. Kids grind against each other. One of the students from his section, Hsiao Ching-Li, performs a back handspring.

Hairu hands him a beer. Ui shrinks to the wall. He keeps his head low, hoping no one recognizes him.

"Having fun yet?" Hairu asks, voice dry.

"Is anyone really?" Ui can't help but asking. The lights are low and dim. Mutsuki, clearly intoxicated, grabs Yonebayashi's and Shirazu's hands, jumping around in a circle with them.

"Leave your philosophical thinking cap at home, Koori." Hairu gulps her beer. "Let's play a game."

"What kind of game?"

"Shiratori," Hairu says. "If I win, you have to have another drink. If you win, I have to have another drink."

"I'm not into drinking games," Ui retorts. Sweat slides down his spine.

"Yeah," Hairu says. "I'm not surprised. She holds her drink aloft, pink hair swaying. "When I first saw you, Koori, I thought how you looked like a professor, except for your stupid bowl cut and your baby face. Then I knew I could trust you." She drinks more.

Ui glugs the bitter liquid. Stupid bowl cut? Baby face? But she trusts him. "I thought you were more mature than you are," he says. "Your clothes are always so professional, and—" Shit, he shouldn't let on that he pays attention to what she wears.

Hairu chortles. "You know why I dress this way?"

"Why?"

She leans closer. Her breath tickles his cheek. Ui's heart pounds. "Does it look familiar at all? Remind you of anyone?" She tugs on her slacks.

Ui frowns. "What—"

"I want to dress like Arima dresses," Hairu says dreamily. She grabs another beer for herself. "Because I want to impress him."

"That's not normal, " Ui snaps. "What are you, some fangirl?"

"I just want to make him smile."

 _What the fuck._ Ui reaches for another beer himself.

A girl with long purple hair and glasses stumbles past, knocking into Hairu. "Hey!" Ui shouts. The girl falls to her knees, vomiting.

"Rize!" calls a boy with a mole on his cheek. "Rize, I—"

"Go the fuck away, Nimu," mumbles Rize, her voice slurred. The boy reaches for her arm.

"Leave her alone," snaps Hairu.

"I wasn't doing anything, you pink bitch," Furuta retorts. "Fine, Rize. Wake up in some stranger's bed again. See if I care."

"You're a bastard!" Hairu shouts.

Ui glares at this Furuta. "What are you—"

Rize gets to her feet, vomit sliming her front. She runs outside.

"I just wanted her to get home safely," Furuta snarls. "Thanks to you all, that won't happen."

"You've never cared about her safety," says Hairu.

"Fuck off." Furuta runs after Rize again.

"Do you know them?" Ui demands.

"We grew up together," Hairu says. "He's always been rude." She wipes at her eyes.

"Dangerous?" demands Ui.

"No. Stupid," Hairu says. She stumbles.

Ui catches her hand. "Don't cry," he says.

She snorts. Her eyes search his. "I used to make everyone laugh when they were sad. In our homeschool group."

"I'll—" Ui stops himself. _Make you laugh._

_What am I saying? What am I doing?_

He remembers a horse throwing him once. His backside hurt, but no bones were broken. But the horse, his favorite one, galloped off. It took him hours to make it back home, and the entire time he was certain his parents would be furious, terrified too. But they hadn't even noticed, and he was crying and they didn't care, and he felt so alone.

_Don't feel alone, Hairu._

* * *

_I can't believe I'm here right now._

Urie watches as Mutsuki, for the first time since he's met that coward, throws his arms out and laughs, dancing like he hasn't a care in the world. But Urie has a care in the world, and it's named wasting time here that he could spend studying. But if he leaves before the others do, he's worried Higemaru won't be able to find his way home.

And also Urie forgot his keys because the universe hates him and conspires against him.

Urie rolls his eyes and pushes through the gyrating crowd. He makes it to the kitchen area of Itou's house and grabs a water bottle. He glugs it down.

"Good idea," says Shirazu's voice from behind him.

Urie bites his lip. He turns around.

"Drinking water helps you stay sober," Shirazu says.

Urie raises an eyebrow. But this is his chance. "Hey, can I borrow the keys to the Chateau?"

"Then how would we get in?" asks Shirazu.

Urie grits his teeth. His jaw throbs. "Listen, dimwit, I'm going to get a 4.0 this semester. I have to be up early to study. I realize you have no cares besides partying and laughing it up, but some of us—"

"I have no other concerns?" Shirazu laughs, unscrewing the cap on his water bottle. "Little you know, Urie. Besides, I'm not the one who got a 64 on that quiz."

"You piece of—"

"Whoa!" calls Saiko, the plump one, as she bounds in. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing," Shirazu says, glaring at Urie. If his teeth really do hide his cannibalistic tendencies Urie will probably die tonight. Good thing Shirazu is all bark and no bite. Urie knows his type.

"Wanna dance?" Saiko peers up at Shirazu. "Btw, that girl you were flirting with earlier? Mayu? I heard they call her Nutcracker because when she goes down on you, she likes to bite."

Urie cringes. Shirazu's face turns bright red. "I wasn't flirting!"

"Looked like it to me!" Saiko chirps. She slaps Shirazu's shoulder and turns to prance back to the dance floor.

 _You're not going to give me the keys, are you?_ Urie could smack Shirazu's stupid teeth out of his stupid skull. "Please give me the keys." See, he even said _please_. "Call me and I'll get up and let you guys in."

"No," says Shirazu, putting his hands on his hips. "See, Urie, I don't trust you. You're not that kind of responsible."

"Excuse me?" Urie's eyes pop.

"You don't have a kind bone in your body. You're not likely to get up again unless there was something in it for you. I know your type." Shirazu crosses his arms over his chest.

"And your idea of responsibility is drinking at this kind of party?" retorts Urie. Words stick in his throat. He wants to rip the cruelest ones and hurl them at this prick—

"My idea of responsibility is taking care of my brain-damaged sister, thanks very much," Shirazu snaps. "But you wouldn't know about her, because you never ask anyone about anything beyond what the homework was."

"Like hell if you know!" Urie curls his fist. "At least I'm not using a sister for pity."

Shirazu's foot flies up before Urie can see it coming. Urie flies across the kitchen, slamming into the cabinets. A handle digs into his spine. He gasps, and then scrambles to his feet. His fist surges.

"Stop!" shrieks Mutsuki's voice. The green-haired boy gapes at both of them. "Stop, Shirazu! Urie! I—I don't want you fighting!"

"You're a coward," Urie snaps. Mutsuki flinches.

"Leave Tooru alone!" Shirazu shoots back.

"Hey guys, what's up?' calls Higemaru, jogging back. He takes note of Saiko's stricken face. "What's up?"

"Nothing," says Urie quickly.

"Well, you might all want to come see this," reports Hsiao. "That TA from the other section? The one who looks as if he's the spawn of a model and a grapefruit? He's clearly had too much to drink."

"Have fun," Urie snaps. "I'm leaving." Fuck this. He'll wait outside the dorm on the off chance someone lets him in.

"Fine!" hollers Shirazu as Saiko takes his arm. Mutsuki frowns, but he doesn't chase after Urie.

* * *

Someone's squeezing his skull together, mashing up his brains. Ui cracks an eye open and a knife cuts it. He groans. His stomach burns.

A flash of dusty blue catches his eye. The blanket. Huh? Ui's blankets are gray.

Ui sits up. His head spins.

The room he's in is completely unfamiliar. Tiny, with a window directly behind the bed. The walls are blank, and textbooks cover a messy desk. A laptop blinks on top of it. And next to Ui in the bed, Hairu curls up, snoring.

 _Oh my God._ Ui clutches his head. He's still dressed in his vest and dress shirt and slacks from yesterday. _What happened? How did I end up here?_ He remembers… a party. Hairu, sad. Beer. The stale taste in his mouth nauseates him.

Ui notices his phone on the bedside table. He snatches it.

9:47. "Shit!" He leaps up. His brains feel like they're sloshing around in his head.

Hairu stirs. She props herself up on her elbow, hair mussed. "Morning."

Ui can only gape at her in horror. "I—I'm—"

"Nothing happened!" Hairu cries out, scrambling to her feet. She's still dressed in her own vest and dress clothes. "You were drunk out of your mind and I didn't know where your home was so I took you back here but the floor isn't comfortable so I—nothing—"

"I know!" Ui assures her. He really wasn't worried about that. He clutches his scalp. "What _happened?"_

A laugh emerges from Hairu's lips. "Well, you got your taste of an undergrad party."

Ui shakes his head. Mistake. His stomach lurches. "I have—a meeting."

"I'll make you coffee." Hairu rushes out of the door of her bedroom. Ui just stands there. How could he be so irresponsible? "I've gotta go myself. I have a meeting with Dr. Kanou." One of the biology professors.

"Here." Hairu thrusts a travel mug reeking of coffee into his hands. "And here's a pair of sunglasses. Your eyes are kind of bloodshot."

Ui groans. He slips the shades on. They have rhinestones on them. "Thanks."

"Welcome, Koori." Hairu hesitates. "Sorry." Her voice comes out a whisper. Her chin scrapes her chest.

"It's not your fault," Ui reassures her. "I made the decision to drink." He remembers what she said about Arima. Why of all things is he remembering _that?_

Ui hurries out of the dorm. In the lobby he spots Furuta Nimura curled up on a chair. Furuta cocks his head, definitely recognizing Ui.

 _Shit._ Ui's face colors as he scrambles out. Nothing happened, but if Furuta decides to spread that rumor… it could be bad not just for him but for Hairu.

He hustles outside. Damn, it's colder today than he expect. Ui clutches the coffee mug. He takes a sip and almost gags. It's like sludge and battery acid mixed together. He spits out grains. Why does his abdomen hurt? Did he get punched or something?

But he makes it to Arima's office with one minute to spare. The other four are already gathered, Takizawa dressed in sweats again, Akira peering at his tablet, and Sasaki covering his mouth and chuckling. Hirako raises his eyebrows.

"What?" asks Ui.

"It's cloudy today," remarks Takizawa, a smirk playing with his lips. Akira jabs him in the ribs.

"I have a migraine."

"I'll say." Takizawa goes back to his tablet, snickering.

"Stop," Hirako says.

Takizawa laughs harder.

"Don't show him," Hirako says. "Don't you dare show him."

"Show me what?" Ui demands. Despite the mug of hot coffee in his hand, his fingers feel numb.

"Nothing," Sasaki cuts in.

Takizawa guffaws.

"What?" Ui squeaks out.

Akira sighs and turns the tablet around. Ui sees a video of himself on one of the student Facebook pages. Doing the worm.

_I'm dead._

_My life is over no one will respect me now what have I done poor Hairu she must be so humiliated I'm a fool Arima's going to fire me I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead._

"Don't worry too much," Takizawa says. "We've all had those moments. Amon dragged a drunk Mado back when we were freshmen."

"Takizawa!" Akira looks scandalized.

"It's true," Amon confirms from behind Ui. Ui gulps. "At least you're of legal age, anyways."

Arima appears, and Ui can't even look at him.

Hairu's words linger in his ear. _I want to impress him._

 _Why?_ Ui follows everyone into Arima's office.

_Just what is so special about you, Arima Kishou?_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Mutsuki and Sasaki visit :re and meet a certain manager, and Akira hosts a dinner for Amon and Takizawa.


	4. Winged Cupid Painted Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Warning for a brief scene of harassment at the end of Mutsuki's section.

_I say there is no darkness by ignorance_

_Twelfth Night_

* * *

"Hey Mutsuki!"

He glances up as he leaves the practice room. Hours of piano and he still can't get it right. He's going to bomb in the concert. It may be months away, but he knows he's going to bomb.

But Sasaki's there, smiling at him. "Practicing?"

"Trying to." Mutsuki shrugs. "It could have… gone better."

Sasaki frowns. "If I knew anything about piano, I'd help, but I don't. Sorry."

"Not your fault," Mutsuki says. He wrings his sweater.  _I'm going to make a fool out of myself._

Sasaki falls into step behind him as they leave the building. The sun shines, orange light dipping low in the sky. "I have an idea. Do you know Suzuya?"

Mutsuki nods. "He's in our class."  _And he killed the cats. Except he didn't.  
_

A cold wind blows. Sasaki's hair flutters around his face. His smile is so easy. Mutsuki wishes he could imitate it. Sasaki rubs his chin. "He's good with piano. I could get him to help you."

 _Oh._  Mutsuki blinks. "Would he—"

"Nah, it wouldn't be a problem." Sasaki smiles, pulling out his phone and texting. "I'll let you know what he says, okay?"

'Thanks." Mutsuki stuffs his hands in his pockets. His heart pounds. Sasaki's so helpful, and he doesn't seem to want anything from Mutsuki. He turns and hurries back to the Chateau, where he finds Shirazu waiting. "Is everything okay?"

"No," says Shirazu. "Saiko hasn't practiced at all, and they're going to ask for a report on our hours next week, and given how many times she's missed class, Urie says she'll get kicked out if she doesn't practice."

"Kicked out?" cries Mutsuki. He likes Saiko. She's sweet and funny, and she likes him.

"Of the class," Shirazu says. "We need to do something." He curls his fist. "Hsiao, Hige, and Aura are MIA, but Urie said he'd join us. I may have threatened him. We need an intervention."

Mutsuki nods. Within minutes, they're barging into Saiko's room. She's snoozing on her bed. Candy wrappers are scattered all over the floor. The desk is covered in nenderoids and manga, not a single textbook. Those are dumped on the floor.

"Wake up, sleeping beauty," Shirazu snaps, yanking the pillow out from under Saiko's head.

"Hey!" Saiko shrieks. She jumps up, blue hair mussed, blankets rumpled. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You're going to get kicked out of class," Urie tells her bluntly, leaning back against the door. He looks bored.

 _Can you really not care?_  Mutsuki wonders. But if Urie didn't care, why did he even bring it up?

"What?" Saiko shrieks.

"You haven't studied at all," Mutsuki says, sitting on the bed next to Saiko. The quilt has a Pokemon pattern. "So—"

"I'll do better!" Saiko promises. "I'll—I'll go class tomorrow and I'll—"

Oh boy. Mutsuki wrinkles his nose. The room smells stale. He gets to his feet and slides open the window. Night air flows in.

"I'm trying to look after you!"

"Why do you care?" Saiko shoots back.

"Why did you even sign up for this class if you don't want to put the work into it?" Shirazu demands. "Why did you even go to college if you just want to be a neet?"

Saiko glares at him. "Because I get to make my own decisions living at college?"

"Poor decisions!"

Mutsuki clutches his skull. He turns to Urie, who rolls his eyes.

"At least they're mine!"

"Bullshit!" Shirazu yells.

"Stop trying to control me!"

"I  _care_  about you!" Shirazu bellows. "But, fine, Saiko, if you just want to waste away your talent and your days playing video games and sleeping, go for it."

"Little you know," Saiko retorts. "Did it ever occur to you that I don't get to pick my own schedule? That I didn't get to choose where to go to college, or whether to go or not? They offered me a scholarship and my mom didn't care so long as I was out of her hair. My music gets her money. That's all that matters." Saiko gulps. Her lips tremble.

The open window suddenly feels too cold. Mutsuki turns around and slams it shut. He shivers.

"What a bitch," Shirazu says.

Urie's jaw falls open. Mutsuki freezes.

Saiko just blinks, still seated on her bed.

"Do you like music?" Shirazu demands. "Like, what do you want to study, Saiko?"

She frowns and tugs at her pigtails. "I've never really thought about it before."

Shirazu runs his hand through his unruly hair. "Well, I'm asking you now."

Saiko shrugs. "I might as well like it."

"Well, I think you're good at it," Shirazu says.

"How about you?" Saiko asks, peering at him. "Is music what you like?"

Shirazu shifts on the bed. "It's potentially a way to get money. Plus I have a scholarship, so I don't have to pay for studies, and I want to be able to support my sister."

"Is she younger than you?" asks Mutsuki.

"Yeah, and she has a genetic condition," Shirazu says. "She's on a ventilator in the hospital. I have to pay for her treatment, because someday—they might be able to help her."

 _Shit_. Mutsuki gulps.

"What about your parents?" asks Urie.

"Mom left because she 'couldn't deal,'" Shirazu says, making air quotes. "And Dad… couldn't deal either. He's dead. So I have to deal."

 _Why_? And how can Shirazu deal with that? Mutsuki hugs his arms around himself. Urie sits silently.

"What a bitch," Saiko says, with a laugh.

Shirazu snorts. Mutsuki hopes they don't ask him about his family. Shirazu would give up his own dreams and hopes just to keep his sister alive. Mutsuki killed his brother, and he can't even remember doing it. Urie presses his chin against his knees, hiding his mouth. His eyes meet Mutsuki's.

His phone buzzes. Mutsuki pulls out his phone and checks it.  _Sasaki!_

_Suzuya wants to help! He said we should all get coffee at a café in an hour—that work for you? I can drive us._

He's helping him. Mutsuki's heart flutters. He sends a text agreeing.

An hour later, Mutsuki meets Sasaki and Suzuya in the parking lot. Suzuya's chomping on a giant chocolate bar. "Yo!"

"Hey," Mutsuki echoes.

"Heard you needed help with the piano," Suzuya chatters, hopping into the backseat. His clothes drape off him, and the red lines on his throat and arm are apparently stitches. "And I needed a latte. So Sasaki is providing both."

Mutsuki can't help but laugh.

"I haven't been to this café," says Sasaki, pulling out of the parking lot.

":re? It's pretty cool. Kinda hipster though," says Juuzou, breaking off a piece of chocolate and handing it to Mutsuki. "They usually have live music but it's more like, grunge."

Mutsuki does like the atmosphere of the place. Woodwork and rabbits pictures and strange masks hanging on the wall give it a quirky air. A boy with unruly red hair and glasses leans across the counter to kiss a girl with auburn hair. A live band does play in the corner, a boy with dark indigo hair and a safety pin for an earring leading a band comprised of another small girl with dark hair, an older man with a weird goatee, and a man with white hair and a scowl. A couple sits at a table, the man—with slicked back blond hair—cackling, and the woman—pink hair done in a very unique style—smiling at she sips her coffee. A small girl sits at the table with them.

"Fueguchi Hinami," says Suzuya, gesturing towards the girl. "She goes to our university."

Sasaki ducks his head. Mutsuki wonders why.

"I'll take your orders," says a girl, approaching them. Fluffy blue hair sticks out from her face. She's pretty.

And the way Sasaki looks at her. It's like he's been stabbed by her presence. Sweat shines on his forehead, and he looks trapped, exposed, panicked.

"A latte," chirps Suzuya. "Extra sugar. You, Mutsuki?"

"Um—just iced coffee," Mutsuki manages. His stomach knots. His heart disintegrates inside his chest.

"Coffee. Hot," whispers Sasaki. "I mean, hot coffee. Not—" His face flushes.

Suzuya cackles. The girl doesn't so much as blush. She nods and turns away.

 _Why am I never enough?_ Mutsuki wants to cry. But instead Suzuya is chattering around how last time he saw Yasuhisa Kurona here and was afraid she'd shank him, and about how Kurona seems to think she's the only person who ever lost someone while his foster father's in a permanent vegetative state after being hurt in that explosion years ago. The same one that took Urie's father.

Mutsuki can't imagine having a father to mourn, but the idea entrances him. He puts his hand on Suzuya's shoulder. "Do you visit him often?"

Suzuya shakes his head. "It's too hard." He rolls his eyes. "Oh look, coffee's here!"

Sasaki twitches when the girl hands out their coffees.  _Too hard?_  Mutsuki doesn't understand. He misses his family even when the doctors say he did it.

Whatever. He'll focus on what he has. He has to do this. Mutsuki turns to Suzuya. "So what's your advice?"  _It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter._

He keeps it together until Sasaki drops them off and Suzuya heads to his dorm on the other side of campus. Mutsuki muffles a sob as he heads back to the Chateau, fists clenched at his sides.  _Why?_

"Evening," says a security guard. Mutsuki stiffens, ducking his head and hurrying down the winding path towards the Chateau. He can see the lights.

"Do I need to look for any dead cats?" calls the guard.

Mutsuki freezes. He turns. Clouds bloat the night sky. Damp air seeps through his sweater, chilling his spine. "What?"

"I know it was you," says the guard. "Well, mostly it was me. But it was also you."

"You're a fucking liar!" He's better. He's better now. They said so. It's why they let him go. That's why they let him live here. They said he could have a future. They said—

"No," croons the guard. "I gave you a knife to do it. And a jar." He laughs. "You don't even remember, do you? You remember killing them, but not the details. What a sick, sick child you are."

Mutsuki recoils. "Go to hell!"

"Are you troubling the pretty lady, Tokage?" calls another security guard, a tall, scrawny man with a ghastly smile.

"I'm not a girl!" Mutsuki shoots back. He wants to die. This man's comment makes him feel stripped, exposed. Tears burn in his eyes.

Grotesque. A freak. A liar. No—they're lying, he's lying, they're both lying.

"My bad." The guard holds up his hands. "You're prettier than half the girls I've ever met, then."

Mutsuki's skin prickles. He takes a step back. Where— _help_ —someone—

"Why is he so worried?" asks the second guard. "Did you catch him doing something wrong? Surely for someone this pretty, you can let him go—"

"No, nothing wrong, Saeki," says Tokage. He grins at Mutsuki. The coffee Mutsuki drank surges up his throat. He thinks of Suzuya and—

" _Mutsuki!"_

He whirls around. Shirazu and Urie both jog towards him. "We're heading back from practice!" Shirazu says. He skids to a stop with a frown.

"Is there a problem?" asks Urie. He steps in front of Mutsuki.

"Not at all. Have a pleasant night,  _Mutsuki_." Saeki waves at them, backing up.

Mutsuki's heart pounds. His face burns.

"What a fucking creep," says Shirazu.

"I hate guys like that," says Urie.

Mutsuki ducks his head. At least they didn't hear the comment about him looking like a girl.

_When will I be who I want to be?_

* * *

"You came!" Akira wraps her arms around Takizawa in a quick hug, and then she hugs Amon. She invited them both over for dinner to catch up (dinner being curry that she picked up from a nearby place) but Takizawa had been hemming and hawing.

"Threatened him," Amon quips. Maris Stella hisses at the men from her spot on the couch, the spot she's zealously guarding. "Her disposition hasn't improved."

"Nah." Akira shakes her head. "I have beer in the fridge. But we're all, like, going to have to go slow."

"Please tell me you aren't as much of a lightweight," jokes Amon.

Akira snorts. "I'm still pretty bad. I'm tiny." She focuses on Takizawa, sitting on the other edge of her couch and making funny faces at Maris Stella. "At least I wasn't the one who sent a drunk email to their advisor."

Takizawa cringes. "Don't remind me of that."

Akira snickers. She dishes out the curry into bowls. "Eat up. It's better than the instant ramen I'm sure you live on." She hands everyone a beer.

"However did you guess?" Takizawa asks sarcastically.

Akira rolls her eyes and clicks her chopsticks. "You haven't changed as much as you think you have."

Takizawa snorts. He takes a bite of the curry. "Mm. Good."

"How was your DMA, Amon?" Akira asks. "I need to know. For science."

"For you, you mean?" He rolls his eyes too, arranging his napkin on his lap. He details his program to her. "By the way, your recommendations are all set to go. I'll send them to you to proofread, and you can let me know."

"Is that proper protocol?" Akira asks, wrinkling her nose. The curry's sweet, spicy scent saturated her mouth. Curry was her father's favorite. He always took her out for it as a reward for doing well in school, or after a big recital.

"It's standard protocol," Takizawa puts in.

"You're a first year masters student; how would you know?"

Takizawa raises his eyebrows. "I know everything."

Akira crumples her napkin and tosses it at him. Amon groans.

"Your second year recital is next week, right?" Amon asks.

"Yeah," Akira says. She swallows. "I'm a little nervous."

Takizawa blinks, clearly surprised she admitted to that.

"We'll both be there," Amon assures her, taking a swig of beer. "Promise."

She swallows the liquid herself. She's not much a fan. She prefers sweet drinks. But. It's nostalgic.

"Are you ever going to change your Goth look?" Akira asks Takizawa.

"Oh fuck," Takizawa says. "Is this an intervention? Was that why I was invited here?"

"You were invited because you're a friend, dumbass. Even if you vanished for four years." And still won't tell her a thing about it. She's frustrated.  _How can I help you?_ Even if he's back now. Even if he finished school. He doesn't seem all right. But if he doesn't want help, she can't waste her energy trying.

Takizawa gulps his beer. "So. Let's discuss our students. Did you notice Furuta aggressively flirting with Kamishiro Rize in the cafeteria today? It was almost embarrassing."

"Oh dear," says Amon. "That boy is just. Trouble."

"He tripped and dropped his tray onto her. It's honestly like he's six years old," Takizawa says.

"I hope she slapped him," Akira says. That'd be more effective than telling him off.

"I think she laughed at him."

Never mind. "Even better." Akira decides not to finish her beer. She's pleasantly tipsy halfway through and doesn't want to get any more drunk than that.

"Thanks for the food, Mado," Takizawa says quickly as soon as he finishes. "It was good to catch up with you guys."

"You're leaving already? You can't even offer to clean up?" Akira demands.

"I have a ton of grading to catch up on," Takizawa insists. He smiles at her. "Seriously. Thank you, Akira." He glances at Amon, offering him a small smile before leaving.

"Why is he like that?" grumbles Akira, slamming the dishes into the sink.

"I don't think it's been easy for him," Amon says, reaching for the sponge.

"Is he depressed?"

"I'm not a doctor."

Akira turns on the water. Warm. She sighs. "It hasn't been easy for any of us. First I lost my dad, then Takizawa, and then you, all in the span of—less than a year."

"He'd be proud of you," Amon says. "Working so hard for your master's. Plus you're going to excel at your recital next week. If you want to practice, I'll give you pointers." He reaches past Akira to scrub another bowl.

Akira swallows. "That sounds great."

 _I miss him. I still miss him. And then you were gone and everyone and everything from my old life had vanished._ She bows her head.

Amon puts his hand on her shoulder.

"He'd be proud of you too," she whispers.

Amon shifts. His hand slides away.

 _Not again._  Akira turns towards him. She looks up into his eyes. "This time, don't dodge." She keeps her eyes open this time, taking in his look of surprise as she rises on tiptoe. He lowers his mouth, lips breaking through hers. Her father would be happy about this. Akira's sure of it. She slides her hands down Amon's neck. His hand fumbles to turn the sink off. She doesn't want to come up for air because if she does, it might all fade away.  _Please don't go._

They make their way to the couch. Akira puts his hands on her chest. Amon's face reddens, but his hands caress her. He pulls back, eyes searching hers.

"One second," Akira manages. He's not going to leave. Relief shudders through her. She darts into her room to grab a condom. Amon raises his eyebrows. "Don't judge."

"I'm not."

"I've had them for—a while." Akira kneels on the couch. "I haven't used them. Ever. I would say I'm the world's oldest virgin but I'm pretty sure you have me beat."

Amon's face colors. "Nuns exist, Akira, but am I that obvious?"

She shrugs. "Your personality is." They should probably move to the bedroom. But Amon cups her face again, and she wraps her arms around him. He kisses her neck, and she pulls her blue tank top off her head, unbuttons her skinny jeans. "Here?"

"Is this okay?" Amon pauses over her, sweat already on his forehead.

"Um." Akira shrugs. "Yeah." It doesn't matter where it is. She just wants to be with him. She wants him to shield her from the emptiness gnawing at her. He squeezes his eyes shut before he begins, and Akira already knows she's going to tease him later for it. But he holds onto her, and she holds onto him.

When she wakes up the next morning, it's to her phone ringing. As soon as she sits up, Akira realizes it isn't even morning. It's five, and it's still dark outside. Amon blinks beside her.

"Akira?" asks Takizawa.

"What happened?" she demands.

"Amon won't answer his phone."

"He's here," Akira says, her face burning. Amon sits up sleepily.

"I figured," Takizawa says dryly. "Put it on speaker. Something bad happened. With Yasuhisa Kurona."


	5. Words Are Not Deeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Sorry, kind of a lighter chapter; more plot next time.

* * *

"What happened?" Ui demands as he finds Amon pacing back and forth outside Arima's office.

Amon mumbles something incoherent, hand clapped over his mouth.

"I don't speak gibberish, Amon."

Amon removes his hand. "One of my students is probably going to be expelled."

"Okay…" Ui doesn't understand what this has to do with Amon. "If they did something wrong, then—"

"She's a really confused kid," Amon interrupts, dragging both hands over his skull now. "I tutored her when I was an undergrad and she was a high school student. Her and her twin sister. But since her twin died she's been spiraling."

Understanding dawns on Ui. "Yasuhisa?" He heard the story about what happened over the weekend from Sasaki. Apparently Yasuhisa was drunk and angry and attacked Suzuya and four of his friends. With a crowbar.

Amon nods. "She blames Suzuya Juuzou for what happened to Nashiro."

Undergrad gossip. Ui scratches his head. "Why is that?"

"Because he dared Nashiro to drink so much and then laughed at Kurona when she was unconscious and vomiting." Amon sighs. "He didn't realize that she was really that sick. No one did, except Kurona. Plus they lost their parents way back in high school, too."

"Won't Dr. Kanou defend her?" asks Ui. Based on what he's heard, he's not optimistic for Yasuhisa's chances. But if Kanou gets involved… "He's her advisor, right?"

"He said she's on her own." Amon bites his lip. "I asked."

 _What a dick._ Ui scowls. "In all fairness, keeping her on campus when Juuzou's around after she attacked him really isn't fair to him. And Juuzou was presumably disciplined for what happened with Nashiro?"

"Slap on the wrist, same as all of them." Amon says, wringing his hands. "I want to help her. I want to. She's a lost kid."

She's an adult. Ui raises his eyebrows. " _Is_ there anything you can do?"

"I'll go with her to the discipline hearing," Amon says. He bites his lip. "Except it's during the second year master's students' recitals next week."

"I'm sure Arima will understand."

Amon sighs. "I promise Akira that I'd be there, though."

 _So?_ "I'm sure she'll understand," Ui repeats. Akira's very reasonable. A suspicion occurs to him. He opens his mouth, and then shuts it. He can't risk someone finding out and taking it out on Hairu. She did nothing wrong. He was just a foolish idiot. And she is beautiful. Besides, Amon and Akira are too smart to get involved with each other when he's her superior. Ui lowers his chin.

He's barely spoken to Hairu since the party. He doesn't know how to address her. But it's his turn to lead the review session later this week.

"Sorry I'm late!" calls Arima, hurrying up to unlock the door. "Amon, I've a meeting with Ui now—is—"

Amon explains the situation with Kurona, asking if he can be excused from the recitals. Arima acquiesces without protest, and then ushers Ui into his office. "What was it you wanted to discuss?" Arima pulls up his email on his computer, not even glancing at Ui.

Ui gulps. "I wanted to—discuss—" _I'm fucking it up, I'm fucking everything up, it's my first semester as a DMA student and I got drunk at a party like a freshman_. "I wanted to tell you. Last weekend, I—"

"Does whatever happened violate the school's policies?" Arima cuts in. He grabs a mug of what must be now-cold tea and sips. He taps out an email. The sun glares behind him, harsh and unyielding.

Ui folds his hands. "Not exactly; it just looks that way."

Arima turns to him with a frown. He removes his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"One of my students," Ui says. "I left a party with her. Nothing happened, but I was—intoxicated, and slept on her couch." Okay, it was her bed, but he isn't going to make it sound like something it truly wasn't. "And another student saw me leaving. But nothing happened; I swear it."

"I believe you," Arima stated.

Ui let out a sigh of relief.

"I don't see why you needed to bother me with this, though," Arima adds.

Ui flinches. "I just—in case rumors started spreading, I wanted you to know—"

"I trust you," Arima says, turning back to his screen.

 _But you don't even know me_. Ui swallows. "Would it be a conflict for me? Grading her after this?"

"If nothing happened, no." Arima doesn't even look at him.

"It's Ihei Hairu," Ui says. "She says you were raised in the same homeschooling group." _She dresses to impress you every day but she winds up impressing me._

"Ah," says Arima, rubbing his chin and glancing out the window. "Yes."

 _Would you even recognize her?_ Ui wonders. How could Arima have made such an impression on Hairu, but he barely remembers her, if at all? Unless Hairu is just a stalker otaku. But she's not. She's too good.

"I guess that's all," Ui says. "Thank you."

"Have a good day, Ui." Arima sighs and types away.

Ui rises, heading for the door. He opens it and shrieks.

"Ooh, did I scare you? Ruffle your _adorable_ bowl cut?" coos that literature professor, Eto.

"I can't talk now, Eto," Arima states.

"Pish posh, yes, you can, Kishou," Eto purrs. She prances past Ui, hopping up onto Arima's desk and swinging her legs. "If I only spoke to you when you were ready and able to speak we wouldn't talk until you were dead. And I am not that patient."

Arima turns to gape at her. His face flushes. Ui's eyes pop. Arima glances past her, meeting Ui's eyes. "Our previous conversation applies."

 _So there's nothing going on. Uh-huh_. Ui nods.

"Oh," exclaims Eto, tapping her chin. "Did you come to talk to him about your worm video, Ui Koori? I must say, when I saw that—well. It was simply astounding. Out of character, or so I thought. Then again, repression is a thing in psychoanalytic—"

"Eto, stop," Arima interrupts. Ui's skin feels as if it's sizzling off. He practically runs away to a soundtrack of Eto chortling like a maniac. He chugs coffee to run away from the anxiety chewing at him.

At the review session that evening, Hirako notices Ui tapping his fingers nervously. Hairu arrives, along with a sullen Urie Kuki and a sweet Mutsuki Tooru. The session goes well, and afterwards Ui screws up his courage to call after Hairu.

Hirako pauses as Hairu jogs back to him."I'll lock up the classroom," Ui tells him.

Hirako nods. "Night."

"You okay?" Hairu blurts out. "I've noticed you've been avoiding me lately—did I do something wrong? Was my coffee that bad?"

"No!" Ui insists. He shakes his head. "Well—the coffee was terrible."

Hairu's face crumples. She snatches her bag, flinging it over her shoulder.

"Kidding!" he lies. "I just—Hairu, I was worried—Furuta Nimura saw me leaving your place, and I was concerned people would think it was something it wasn't." He locks the door behind them, heading down the shadowed hallway.

"That we were sleeping together?" Hairu asks bluntly, following.

Ui cringes. Did she have to say it so loudly? "Yeah. That."

"Furuta's a wretched skank who thinks everyone's just as desperate and shitty of a person as he is," Hairu declares. Her eyes flash.

"Hairu!" Ui reprimands.

"What?" She blinks.

Never mind. Ui swallows. "I mean—we talked; I talked to Arima and explained and he—he said not to worry about it. So everything's okay. He believes that nothing happened."

Hairu pales. "Arima?"

"He's not concerned," Ui assures her. "He doesn't think badly of you."

"But you mentioned me to him?" Hairu beams up at him. "Thank you, Koori!"

That wasn't really what he was going for. Ui's shoulders slump.

"He leaves the longest, best comments on my homework," Hairu continues. "They're practically essays, all about how to improve my writing, and Ui, let me tell you, it's fantastic—so helpful—I just want him to praise me in person one of these days and he will; with how much I'm improving, I know he will!" She skips—literally skips—towards the door.

_Hairu, I leave you those comments._

_Hairu, I spend so much time correcting your homework and papers. Because I know you want to be praised. And I want you to be praised. Because you deserve it._ She really does improve with each assignment. Ui's always genuinely interested in what she has to say.

_Hairu, I tried to get Arima to remember you._

_Hairu, can't you see me?_

Of course she can't. He's nothing like Arima. He doesn't even have his doctorate yet. He's a stuffy boy with an excellent reputation who's stupid enough to fall for a brainless undergrad like her. And with parents who never saw him. Ui locks the classroom door behind him and heads back out of the building, chin scraping his chest.

"Good night, Koori! Sweet dreams," Hairu sings. She throws her arms out as they step outside, craning her neck back to look at the stars. She spins.

"What are you doing?" Ui shrieks, reaching out to catch her when she trips. Her body slams into his. He can't even think.

"Star spinning," Hairu answers, giggling. She tugs pink strands of hair from her mouth. "Haven't you ever tried it?"

"I prefer not to make myself feel nauseated."

"You thought differently a few weekends ago," Hairu crows, prying herself out of his arms. She grins up at him.

"I have to go," Ui stammers. "Grading."

"Sure, sure. Go be boring." Hairu flings her arms out and giggles as she spins again.

Ui shakes his head, stomping towards graduate housing. He glances over his shoulder to see her skipping again, heading towards her dorm. He was never allowed to be that silly as a child. He had a reputation to uphold, his family's reputation.

_She's so beautiful._

* * *

Wrong again.

Urie grits his teeth. His fingers burn as he sucks in his breath. He can't mess this up. It's a tricky piece, Kuroiwa warned him. " _But if anyone can learn it, you can!"_ Said with Takeomi's cheesy smile that Urie would love to wipe off his stupid lips. That passive aggressive shitbag. He's even got a girlfriend now. Kosaka Yoriko. Cute enough, a good cook, but boring.

Then again, Takeomi's at least got someone. More than one someone. People. A lover _and_ a father. Urie doesn't even have his parents. He blows his breath out, chest tight. Time to try again. And again. And again.

_Why can't I have one thing?_

He thinks of his father, teaching him how to play, buying him his first violin for his seventh birthday. _Life isn't just about one thing,_ he would say. Business, teaching, and violin for fun. He would hold concerts—

_You haven't been to one of mine in years—_

_Because you're dead—_

" _He's not coming back, Kuki."_ Kuroiwa looked at him with such sympathy and it was his fault. A wound to the arm was nothing. Dad was dead.

" _If he could hear you play, he would be so proud,"_ Kuroiwa told him when Urie auditioned for the orchestra in his spare time his freshman year. He clapped Urie's shoulder in an almost fatherly gesture. But the reason Dad isn't around _is_ Kuroiwa— _cowardly bastard_ — _he didn't deserve to die for you!_

The notes change. They're faster paced, more intense. Blood rushes through Urie's head. He has to beat Takeomi in class, perform better than him. All these concerns with the others at the Chateau, the movie nights and the study parties Shirazu keeps dragging him to—they have to go. They have to end. He can't get distracted. He had to make sure everyone remembers Urie Mikito. Because Urie can't forget him. Even if everyone else has because they're all fucking—

The strings squeak as he misses the same note as always. This time Urie erupts. _"Fuck!"_

A knock sounds on the door. Urie jumps. It swings open. Sasaki, that asshole, peers in.

"What do you want?" Urie demands.

"You have to leave," Sasaki says. "There's a recital in a half hour. The rest of the building should be cleared."

"The walls are soundproof," Urie counters.

Sasaki chuckles like Urie's said something adorable. "That's true. It doesn't matter."

 _But I have to keep practicing._ Urie glares at him. His fist tightens on the instrument. "I—"

"You have to go now," Sasaki says.

"Fine!" Urie jumps to his feet, wishing he could drag the bow over Sasaki's smug face. He slams his case shut and storms out of the room. His eyes sting, and he doesn't understand why.

He stands in the lobby, listening. Beautiful cello music filters out. Music that would have put a smile on his father's face.

But his father's dead.

Urie turns on his heel and marches out of the building, rushing towards the Chateau. He passes a security guard and makes it inside the building, storming into the communal bathroom. It's empty. Stall doors hang open, lights simmer down at him. Urie clutches his skull. He scowls at his image in the mirror, the moles that look like the one his father had under his eye, his purple hair, his father's face. It's not fair.

"Why can't I succeed?" Urie shouts. He fights to keep his voice low enough so that no one will overhear in the dorm rooms. He grips the counter, shoulders trembling. "Fuck—fuck— _fuck!"_ His fist flies out. It slams into the mirror. It cracks.

 _What the hell?_ Urie gapes. _I just broke school property!_

He lets out a guttural laugh. Of course this would happen to him. Of course it would. It's all fucking—

"Urie?"

He whirls around. The door squeaks as it shuts behind Mutsuki, who gapes at him.

"What the hell do you want?" Urie snarls. He slides his gaze towards the mirror, towards that small curved crack. His own eyes gleam, red and glassy. His nostrils flare.

"Are—are you—okay?" Mutsuki ventures, inching towards the stalls.

"I'm fine," Urie grinds out. "Just—peachy keen."

"Well," says Mutsuki. "Shirazu said that Saiko and him and I will be getting dinner and—"

"I'm not going to join your happy little family!" Urie screams. "Saiko and Shirazu just don't have anyone else—I'm already behind in class, in practice, in my business classes too—I'm giving it my goddamn all and I can't—I still can't do—I hate you all; I hate you, you can all go die for all I care!" The words taste metallic, bitter; they singe his mouth as they leave.

Mutsuki just stares. The green-haired boy looks lost. "Urie…"

Aw shit, now here comes guilt, ready to slather him up and gnaw at him. "Fuck off!" He turns to storm past Mutsuki, but the other boy hesitates.

"Get out of my way!" Urie shoves him.

The boy stumbles, tripping and falling against the wall. He blinks up at Urie.

 _Shit_. Urie freezes.

"You—"

 _I'm going to get suspended, aren't I?_ Tears burn Urie's eyes. "Why—I'm trying so hard—why can't I—" He doubles over. He'll deserve it, too. He's a complete failure of a person and a student—he's so cold—his teeth chatter.

"Urie…" He feels something warm around him.

Arms.

But not his father's. Mutsuki's. And he's hugging Urie, holding him, pressing Urie's chin into his shoulder. "It's okay… it's painful being alone. It's agonizing." Mutsuki's fingers tighten around Urie's shoulders, clinging to him, not letting him go.

 _What?_ Urie sniffles. He just hurt Mutsuki—he cursed Mutsuki—and he's hugging him. Urie's gaze falls behind Mutsuki, to the wall and floor Mutsuki just fell against. He sees something lying on the floor.

A… tampon?

 _Huh?_ What would Mutsuki need with one of those? Does he have a girlfriend he's hiding?

Mutsuki glances over his shoulder. He extracts himself from Urie, reaching down and grabbing the tampon. He curls his hands around it, face red and shoulders hunched.

 _Oh_. Urie meets Mutsuki's eyes, bright. Urie wipes his eyes. "Mutsuki…"

"I—please don't tell," Mutsuki requests.

"I wouldn't," he says. "Mutsuki, I—I'm sorry."

Mutsuki heads towards one of the stalls. He pauses. "You know, if you want a study partner—maybe just one of us—or someone to practice with, I'd be happy to help."

Urie can't force his mouth open to speak. He doesn't understand. How can Mutsuki be so kind to him?

"You don't have to do it all alone," Mutsuki adds, voice trembling.

He nods. The crack on the mirror cuts at his view. Urie wants to cry.

The stall door shuts. Urie hesitates. "Mutsuki?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you—" He doesn't know how to ask this. He's heard guys talk about their girlfriends though. Not that Urie's ever had one. And Mutsuki's not a girl. But either way. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah." Mutsuki's voice is quiet.

Okay. Clearly he didn't want to talk about it. That's fine with Urie. Urie turns and scuttles back towards his room. He spots a bottle of ibuprofen on the shelf above Shirazu's bed and shakes out a few pills, heading down the hall to Mutsuki's room and leaving them on his desk. This way they're even.

Of course, as he turns to leave the room, he runs smack into Mutsuki. Mutsuki's eyes widen in shock.

"Sorry," Urie mumbles. "For. You know. I wanted to apologize." He positions himself in front of the desk, so Mutsuki can't see the pills on top of his laptop. Shit, Mutsuki probably has ibuprofen of his own. He's a loser. Always.

"It's okay," Mutsuki says, voice soft. He smiles up at Urie. "I think you won't be punching mirrors again."

Urie snorts. "No, probably not."

"You have two hours left before Shirazu wanted to have dinner," Mutsuki informs him. "I'll see you then."

Urie's eyes narrow. But Mutuski's pushing past him and will see the pills soon enough. Hopefully he doesn't think Urie's trying to take care of him or anything like that. "Fine." He storms off and back towards his own room.

"Talking to Mucchan?" chirps Saiko.

"What are you doing on this floor?" Urie demands.

"Coming to see Shiragin, Uri." Saiko winks as she flits into their room. "Shirazu, Urie was talking to Mucchy."

"Use full names," Urie retorts.

Saiko just giggles. Shirazu's powering up his laptop and just grunts as Urie enters. "Yasuhisa Kurona got expelled."

"No way!" yelps Saiko. "Well—I guess what she did to Suzuya was—"

For real? Urie's eyebrows raise.

"I mean, it's not like I know her well," Shirazu says, flopping back on his bed. "It's just weird, is all."

"Yeah, I'll say." Saiko plops down next to him. She leans back, turning her face to face his.

Fuck. If this keeps up, Urie's going to have no option but to take refuge in Mutsuki's room. Which Mutsuki did offer. But that was before Urie gave him the pills.

God fucking dammit. He can't win.

Urie grabs his books and turns to storm into the lobby. Maybe tomorrow he can join Mutsuki. But not today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: first exams, and Furuta offers Ui a bargain.


	6. Some By Virtue Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

Akira knows the moment she sees Amon's face. The euphoria buoying her, the notes of the music floating around her, vanishes in an instant. Takizawa's laugh cuts off.

 _Fuck._ They really did it. They expelled that girl. Akira bites her lip.

"See ya later, Mado," says Takizawa, clapping her shoulder. He weaves his way through the small crowd, disappearing. When she was in high school, if she performed without a single mistake, Takizawa would glare at her as if he'd like to see her dead and buried. She promised to walk over him in heels. But today he was nothing but kind to her.

"You played so wonderfully, Mado!" Sasaki throws his arms around her, catching her off guard. "Great job!"

"Um, thanks," Akira ekes out. She peers over Sasaki's shoulder. The boy runs off to chat with Arima. But her father wasn't here to listen to her. She felt his ghost in the room when she played, but not his presence. No comfort.

"Congratulations," Amon tells her. "I knew you'd do wonderfully. You're Mado's daughter." His lips curve as if he's proud of her.

She can still only feel dread. Akira tips her head towards the door. "Can we sneak away?"

"Please." Amon sounds relieved as she takes his arm and ducks down the back hallway, pulling him towards the exit.

A mist soaks the air as she turns to peer up at him. "What happened?"

Amon lifts his shoulders. "Tsuneyoshi Washuu said it didn't matter in the end, what happened to her in the past or what Juuzou even said. He said he didn't care if she got expelled or if she got to stay, but Tsuneyoshi said he had to do the right thing." Amon curls his fist.

Akira watches as a butterfly zips through the air in front of her, fluttering towards a tree leaf. It lands, wings slowing. One of its wings is bent. "I can imagine what my father would say."

Amon sucks in his breath.

"It'd be exactly what Tsuneyoshi said," Akira adds. The butterfly flies again. She wishes she could help it, but it would die if she tried to touch it. "Rules are rules. The school matters more." She can almost hear her voice melding with his.

"I know." Amon sighs, shoving his fists into his pocket. "He'd scold me from the other side if he saw me arguing for Kurona to be given another chance."

Akira wrinkles her nose. He'd scold her too. And still, her chest feels heavy. She wishes he were here. Even if it meant scolding her. "He always spoke highly of Tsuneyoshi."

Amon nods. _He's here._

"How did Kurona take it?" Akira asks. The butterfly's gone, now that she looks again. She swallows. The sun melts behind the clouds, turning the light around them into gold. Akira shivers.

"She cried. She yelled at Tsuneyoshi, too." Amon lifts his shoulders. "Told him he was a gross old baboon in a suit."

In spite of herself, a laugh breaks through. Akira covers her mouth.

Amon smirks. "I guess she thought she had nothing to lose."

"Where did she go?" Akira wonders. "Did she say, Amon?"

"A friend told me she showed up at :re," Amon says. "That hipster café."

Akira hesitates. "Can we go?" Even if her father wouldn't approve. She wants to talk to Kurona. And it's not like she can feel her father anyways.  _You died. Why did you die?_

Amon nods, as if relieved she asked. His car keys jangle as he pulls them out of his pocket. They arrive at the café, the one Akira's heard of but made a point not to go to. It's too full of potential distractions, overflowing with music, other students, laughter and food. She climbs out of the car. A boy with orange hair and wearing a sweatshirt zippered up and a scarf over his lower face waves at them.

"Hey, Hide," says Amon.

The boy waves. "Aghmonn."

 _Huh?_  Akira frowns. He looks familiar.

Hide slips out back. Amon's hand rests on the small of her back. She looks up at him, quizzical. Horror hits her. "Is that—"

Nagachika Hideyoshi dropped out after their first year. She didn't know him well, but he hung out with Takizawa and Amon sometimes. Her stomach lurches. "What happened to him?" She hadn't even noticed he was gone. Her father was gone, and Takizawa and Amon…

But now they're back. They're all back. Except her father, who only knows worms now. Or maybe he's with her mother. She wants to believe the latter. The wind cuts at her face. The mist thickens to a drizzle.

"He was injured in an accident," says Amon.

"It looks like he lost his face," Akira says. And his voice was hoarse, robotic.

Amon lowers his head, pausing with his hand on the door handle. "Don't bring him up."

"Why not?"

"Some—he—" Amon sighs. "He used to be Sasaki's friend. Before the accident. But afterwards—"

Akira cringes. "Sasaki isn't like that. He wouldn't turn on a friend just because—"

"He didn't. It's a long story, Akira, but there's—a complicated history, and Hide's my friend, and he doesn't want Sasaki to know he's in town."

Akira can't understand.  _Tell him._ Reconcile with him, or scream at him—just have it out with him.

Then again, she hasn't done jack shit to address what happened with Takizawa or with Amon. Though she tried with the former and she's having sex with the latter. Amon smiles down at her, and she blinks.  _It's not casual for me, is it? Or for him._  Then, she should trust him. "Fine."

Amon swings the door open. The spiced scent of cinnamon and coffee tickles her nose. A man with white hair lets a tattooed man with about a dozen piercings—the kind of body modification her father would say makes anyone look like they're announcing to the world that their lifelong ambitions are to be a piece of trash—massage his shoulders next to the counter, which is set up to look more like a bar. Mugs dangle from the ceiling, and plump chairs surround wooden tables. A fireplace sits in the back corner for winter nights, and a pile of games sits on one of the tables.

Oh. That tattooed man. She knows him. Uta's the costume designer for the drama department. Itori, the young, beautiful new drama professor, reclines next to them, with a drama student, Hoito Romo, giggling as she looks at her phone next to them.

Kurona sprawls on one of the armchairs, a deep scowl on her lips. And sitting across from her is Takizawa. He raises his eyebrows when he sees them come in. "Didn't know this was your sort of place, Mado."

Ah, there he is. High school Takizawa. Akira scowls. "Kurona—"

"Don't even say it," Kurona says, lifting her legs into the air. "I don't even want to talk about it."

Akira blinks. Takizawa shrugs and sips a steaming coffee. He hacks. "Too hot."

"Do you have a place to stay?" Akira asks, dropping into one of the chairs.

"What's even the point of you asking that?" Kurona asks, pushing herself up. "You can't take me in because you live in graduate housing. You're just trying to act nice and like you care but they're just pretty words."

Akira flinches. "That's not true!"

"Kuro—" tries Amon.

"I'm staying with Hakatori," interrupts Kurona.

"Who's Hakatori?" asks Amon, frowning. He rubs his temples as if Kurona's giving him a headache. She's definitely giving Akira one.

"Friend of his," says Kurona, jerking her thumb towards Takizawa. "Plus Kirishima offered me a few shifts here, so I won't be forced to work the corner just yet."

Takizawa has friends? Akira turns to him. Her heart twinges. He really does care about Kurona, though why she doesn't know. Does he like her?

And then the full weight of what Kurona said hits Akira. " _Kirishima?"_

"Oh, didn't you know?" Kurona croons. "This is her café. Kirishima Touka."

Akira whirls around as Amon curses. Takizawa straightens, eyes fixed on her, but Akira's own eyes search behind the counter.

Kirishima's hair is light blue now, fluffy instead of straight and dark. But her face is still the same, heart-shaped and cute. Her eyes widen when she sees Akira.

Kirishima was there the night her father died in that accident. She is to Akira what Juuzou is to Kurona.  _You're the reason he died_. She was a friend of Fueguchi Hinami's, the daughter of the professor her father fired. And she followed her father around, yelling and cursing at him in a store. When Mado told her he was calling the cops, she spat in his face and turned to leave, and then when he tried to follow her, he lost control of his car and crashed into a tree. But Kirishima was a high school student; there was no way they would charge her.

And Dad had had a brandy before getting behind the wheel, and everyone knew. But he wasn't over the limit. He could have made it if that girl hadn't provoked him.  _It's you. You're the reason he's not here, that he couldn't hear me play today. Not him. Daddy..._

Kirishima definitely recognizes her. She wipes her hands on a towel and emerges from behind the counter.

"Ooh!" coos Roma. "Cat fight? Mrow!"

"Shut the hell up," Takizawa snarls.

"Shit," Amon keeps mumbling. "Shit, shit, shit." But he doesn't intervene.

"Will we have more expulsions?" taunts Roma. Itori smacks her shoulder. "Hey! No fair!"

"Hello," says Kirishima, stopping in front of them. "I'm the manager here. What would you like to order?"

 _Huh?_  Akira's jaw drops. "You're not kicking me out?"

Amon looks at her, swallowing. Takizawa leans forward.

 _Daddy!_  "Gonna scream and cause a scene just like—"

"I'm not interested in doing that," Kirishima cuts in.

Akira crosses her arms over her chest as if to keep her pounding heart inside her chest. "Poison, then? Spit in my drink?" _Why? Why? Why?_

"I'll have Nishiki make your drink for you," Kirishima says. "Or Yomo." She gestures to the white-haired man. "If you'd prefer."

 _What's your game? What are you getting at?_  Akira doesn't understand. Her lips tremble. What does this girl want? And this—this bitch—is helping Kurona out?

"Seems we have a friend in common," Kirishima adds. She turns to Amon. "Would you like something?"

"Coffee. Black." Amon clears his throat. "Thanks, Kirishima."

"You've talked to her? Already?" Akira doesn't care how petty she sounds _. I miss him. I want him back._

"Akira," interrupts Kirishima. "I'm sorry. Words are just words, but—I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do to bring him back, but if I could, I have people I'd like to have back too."

Amon lowers his head.

"Like who?" snaps Akira. "You can keep trying to get me to sympathize with you, but I—" Her chest heaves.

"My father," says Kirishima. "But I'm not after your sympathy. I sympathize with you."

Takizawa chokes on his coffee again. Roma lets out a groan. " _Boring_."

"I'm sorry," Kirishima says again.

Akira's chest tightens, and then the door swings open, and from the outside where the sun sparks red and orange embers into night's ash, she sees a girl she definitely recognizes entering the café. The girl freezes when she sees her.

Fueguchi Hinami. An emo boy draped in Goth clothes reminiscent of Takizawa's and bearing more than a slight resemblance to Kirishima glares at Akira. His hand rests on Fueguchi's shoulder.

"Exciting!" squeals Roma.

"Can the peanut gallery please put a fucking cork in it?" Takizawa bellows. "Or do I have to march over there and do it myself?"

"Chill," says Uta, letting out a sigh.

Fueguchi smiles at Akira, and then turns away to head towards one of the tables by the window. She slings her bag down on it, the boy behind her. Clearly she has no intention of causing a scene, even though she probably... has as much of a right to hate Akira as Akira does to hate Kirishima.

Akira turns back to Kirishima. Her voice cracks. "I'll have a cappuccino."

Roma moans. "When's Yosh coming? I need him to bore me with his dumb existentialism." Takizawa curls his fist.

The bell above the door chimes again. A girl dressed like a Goth— _what is it with this place_?—stomps in, a pink-haired student Akira recognizes tailing her.

"They have practice," comments Kurona. "Maybe I'll still be able to play if I join their band."

"They have a band?" asks Akira. She hopes so. Kurona's talented.

Kurona nods. "Kinda punk, but I can handle it. Hakatori plays electric guitar."

"What kind of a name is that?"

"Yumitsu Tomoe," snaps the girl. She glares up at Akira. "Oh hi, Takizawa."

Higemaru lugs two guitar cases. "What are you, her slave?" asks Takizawa.

"One of these is mine," Higemaru grunts, setting them down.

"I thought you played flute," says Amon.

"I do, but I also play guitar." Hige flexes his fingers. The latte machine hisses behind the counter. The drama nitwits go back to chatting amongst each other.

"I'm better than he is," says Hakatori.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." Hige rolls his eyes. "We just met at the local store looking for new picks. We're going to try it out for open mic night tonight. You all staying?"

"Cool beans, but now I'm out," declares Takizawa. "The sexual tension is too much for my stomach. Bye, Hakatori."

"Hey!" yells the girl. Her eyes, lined with thick black liner, narrow into slits. "Want me to deck you?"

"No, but feel free to try." Takizawa rolls his eyes. "See ya, Akira, Amon. Call me if you need me, Kurona."

Kurona tosses her hair. "Thanks, Seidou."

When did Takizawa start coming here? And since when was he so close to Kurona that he would be able to comfort her? Akira's stunned. Could Takizawa relate to Kurona in some ways? He hadn't lost anybody in the shooting, but he had lost.

Both Takizawa and Sasaki are hiding this, aren't they? Akira swallowed. Kirishima came back over with her cappuccino and Amon's coffee. "On the house."

"You don't have to do that," Akira says quickly.

"Yes," says Kirishima, studying her shoes. "I do."

 _Daddy, come back._  She used to cry when he left her for work, when she was a child. He never forgave the punk who drove drunk and killed her mother. People still whisper about that, about her father's obsession with keeping that man behind bars. And she hasn't fought to get Kirishima behind bars. She didn't even try. Is that a bad thing? What is there to gain from Kirishima giving her free coffee?

Her father would hate Takizawa too. But not Amon. Akira takes the coffee. "Thank you."

Even Amon's hiding. Akira looks up at him. Her father once mentioned the priest who raised Amon, but Amon's never brought him up. Serving a life sentence, Akira's heard.

_Why can't you see me as someone you should stop protecting? Someone you should trust? Someone who can help you?_

* * *

"I can't wait for our exams," Hairu crows. "Make it hard, Koori, but not too hard." She flexes her fingers, stooping to pick up her violin case.

He leans back against the wall, sleep tugging at his eyelids. Except he won't be able to get any sleep for the next few hours. He's got another pile of papers on his desk, including Hairu's, which will take time because she always puts way too much thought into it and the papers wind up overly long and sometimes rambling. He stifles a yawn.

And next week's the first exam. He's got several review sessions scheduled, and he's slightly concerned that Hairu intends to pull all-nighters studying for them. She doesn't have the ability to handle that, he fears.

"Hard for you to impress Arima, I imagine?" Ui asks dryly.

"Mm-hm!" Hairu nods, hopping up and down. "I can't wait."

"You're probably the only student eager for an exam," Ui remarks. "Loser."

"Hey!" She shoves him.

"What's so special about Arima?" Ui finally asks, walking her to the door of the building. "Is it just his—reputation?"

"He smiled at me," Hairu says. "He was tutoring—someone close to me as a student, and I was a kid, and practicing violin—horribly—but he smiled at me."

 _Huh?_  Ui gapes at her. "That's not normal."

"Right?" Hairu chirps. "He didn't normally smile at us."

 _Us?_  "Other kids at your school?" And that wasn't what he meant. Why did a smile mean so much to her? A smile that was years ago? He smiles at her every goddamn day.

"Homeschooled, silly." Hairu winks. "I gotta go now. Have a good night, Koori!" She waves as she hurries out the door.

Ui watches her go. Words desert him. He shakes his head. He wants a cigarette. Ui stomps out the side entrance and flicks on his lighter.

"Ooh, smoking?" comes a voice to the side.

Ui jumps. "What the fuck?"

"It's just me, TA." Furuta Nimura rounds the corner, leaning against the brick corner and rubbing his scalp against it. "Were you practicing with Ihei again?"

Ui's eyes narrow. "Careful with what you're implying there, Furuta." His heart pounds. Ui takes another drag of his cigarette, hoping the spicy smoke will calm his lungs. It doesn't work. Anxiety shimmies through his arms, gripping his wrists.

"I'm not implying anything." Furuta holds his hands up. "You implied it. Besides, you're both adults, and you strike me as the type to be harsher on someone you're dating than someone you're not."

"We aren't dating!" Ui drops his cigarette, grinding it out with his heel. "If you spread rumors, you—"

"I heard her telling you about Arima smiling at her," Furuta says. "You know we grew up together? Same—homeschool group. She was always an airhead."

Ui glares at Furuta. "She is not an airhead." She's smart. He can tell she's smart from her papers.

Furuta holds his hands up in the air again, wiggling his fingers. He bursts into laughter. The sound echoes through the night. Silver moonlight glints on his black hair. "I can help you, you know."

"Huh?" Ui wrinkles his nose.

"Win the fair lady's heart," Furuta croons, hands clasping together by his face. "I know a thing or two about unrequited love."

"Rize," Ui states, remembering the purple-haired girl. She is beautiful, he'll give her that. But even Ui knows her reputation. "And how's that working out for you, undergrad?"

Furuta rolls his eyes. "Rize's Arima Kishou's sister."

Ui freezes. The wind surges through his hair. Branches rattle against each other.

"Same mother, different father, of course," Furuta adds. "Don't you see it now? The glasses, the eyes that look like each other's? That's why she hasn't been expelled despite having a GPA in the gutter."

Ui doesn't know what to say. An owl hoots. He envisions Arima in his mind.  _Fuck_.

"I can find dirt on anyone," Furuta adds proudly. "I live up to my major. Theater."

 _Bullshit_. "I don't understand what this has to do with Hairu, or what hurting Arima does to help his sister," Ui snaps. "And I don't want to hear another word of this malicious gossip—"

"It's true—"

"That doesn't make it my business—"

"I can find things on Arima," Furuta offers. "Everyone has skeletons in their closet. He stays quiet because he thinks keeping Rize here will help her but she's spiraling more—"

"Why would I want that?" Ui demands. "I work for him. He's crucial part of my DMA program. He's a great teacher, completely capable, talented and an inspiration. And I'm sure he knows his sister better than you do."

"You can be all those inspiring things and still have corpses buried out back." Furuta rolls his eyes.

"I don't even grade you," Ui snaps. "I'm not—this conversation ends here." He turns away.

"She'll never love you as long as he's around, " Furuta says. "Because he's the sun, and you are just the moon: a reflection of him."

"I don't love her! It's not like that!" Ui turns to storm away. He'll warn Amon about this kid. He's insane. "Fuck off."

Furuta sighs. "Okay. Well, you care about her, don't you? She's a friend, right? What if I told you she was born out of an affair too, and wound up... she befriended some important people because she was just so cute as a child, and they offered her a scholarship if she went into biology even though she hates it? She accepted it simply because she wanted to be close to Arima."

Ui freezes. The night air suddenly feels cold against his nostrils.  _Hairu? That's so... so wrong_.

He went into music, hoping to be a music therapist, against his parents' wishes. But he had the option of doing that. Hairu... did she have no options but obeying?

"Ihei's still got a brother in high school," Furuta adds. "Shio. He's cute. Stupid and reckless, just like her, but cute. And Arima? He encourages it. He's the favored child and they use him to inspire others from the place we were raised, a place for unwanted kids who are born in less-than-ideal circumstances. He benefits from it, so he says nothing. They use him to control people and it's killing Rize; can't you see it? She's Arima's sister and he doesn't even care she's falling apart. If he left his fucking job here he could maybe help her, and they wouldn't keep enabling her. If everyone could stop worshipping him, from the administrators to the board, we'd all be better off."

"That's not your business," Ui manages. "And your logic is nonsense. If he left his job maybe he'd spiral too." His fingers curl. He spent his childhood riding horses, having violin lessons. Hairu, from the sound of it, had nothing like that. No wonder she didn't understand social norms. "You leave Hairu the fuck alone."

"I have no plans to tell anybody," Furuta says, voice serious.

Ui spins around.  _Were you one of the kids at that home, too?_ "You insult her every time you mention her name. Why are you saying this if not to hurt her?" He could punch Furuta.

"If my own love story can't end happily," Furuta says, looking across campus. "I'd like to see someone else's end happily. And I'd like to learn more about what a DMA program entails, but obviously I can't talk to my own TAs, because that would be unethical. That's all I'd ask." He blinks.

_Happily._

_Love story._

That isn't what this is. Ui opens his mouth, and shuts it. He wishes he could tell Hirako about this, but he can't, because then Hirako might suspect Hairu of not earning her grades when she very much has been.  _It's lonely._ He doesn't love Hairu. He just wants her to be happy. Even if that meant having Arima around, because without him, he's afraid she'd crumple in on herself.

Ui walks away. His mind churns with questions.  _Just what is that place?_

_Furuta, what do you really want?_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't trust Furuta.
> 
> Up next: Ui tries to help Hairu study, and Mutsuki gives Urie refuge.


	7. All the World's a Stage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

"Are you sure Mutsuki Tooru is fit to tutor?" asks Washuu Matsuri, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"His grades are excellent and his behavior in class is commendable," Sasaki says. "I recommend him highly."

"And you, Ui?" Matsuri leans over his desk. A grandfather clock ticks behind him. He twists the fat wedding ring on his finger, lips puckered. His father, the head of department, Yoshitoki, sits nearby.

Ui swallows. "I have no complaints about Mutsuki's conduct."

"Fine." Matsuri sighs and leans back in his chair. It creaks.

Will Mutsuki be tutoring Ihei Shio? Ui wonders why Hairu didn't sign up to tutor. Well, it's not like she needs the extra credit. Then again neither does Mutsuki. Does Hairu just not want anyone to know where she comes from?

The idea that she should have to hide where she comes from just because her parents made choices she had no say in sets Ui's stomach aflame. He knows his parents wouldn't approve of a girl like her. Not that there's anything to approve of. But to have someone disapprove of your existence just because of whom your parents were… it's not fair. It's not right. It's not just.

"And Suzuya Juuzou," says Hirako. "He's been late a few times, and snacks a lot, but I think he could do it."

"I agree," says Matsuri.

Ui's eyes find a framed article about Shinohara Yukinori on the wall. The man in the photo wraps his arms around a tiny kid with bleached hair. Suzuya in high school. _He's a prop for you, isn't he?_

All of these policies—they're bullshit. Ui's going to fix that as much as he can. He'll make sure everything is fair and people can choose who they want to be.

"I hope you realize that if something goes wrong, it will affect your evaluations," Matsuri says, eyes boring into Sasaki. "Since Washuu University takes the conduct of its students with the highest regards."

"Obviously you do," Ui says, remembering Amon's unease. "Expelling Yasuhisa for attacking Suzuya. I do wonder, though, why Suzuya wasn't expelled for the initial incident."

"Suzuya is a valuable student."

"Indeed, I've seen the newspaper articles and I see how Shinohara's office is still empty." Ui's pissed. This whole family is a bunch of hypocrites. They should be expelling Kamishiro Rize, but they're keeping her to keep Arima around. So much for prioritizing education, prioritizing the best of the best as students.

Clouds roll in over Matsuri's face. "Careful, Ui."

But after the explosion, they need all the good publicity they can get. Not an excuse though. A student like Suzuya, from a violent background, sponsored and raised and loved by Shinohara, a man who's been in a coma since the explosion, is valuable. Publicity rakes in money. The awards and articles praising Tsuneyoshi lining the walls of this office irritates Ui.

"I have to leave now," Yoshitoki interrupts, glancing at his watch. "Matsuri, trust what they have to say. Arima didn't handpick the three of them to be his TAs for no purpose." He gives Ui, Hirako, and Sasaki a kind smile before he sweeps out of the room.

Okay, so maybe he isn't a snake. But they're still misusing Suzuya. Ui crosses his arms over his chest. Hirako frowns, as if to ask him what is going on. But Ui won't answer.

"I'd much rather have Arima's word," Matsuri mumbles. "Neither of you three's word really means all that much."

"Excuse me?" Ui cuts in. Sasaki frowns, rubbing his chin.

"Neither of you are as talented musicians as you think you are," Matsuri says.

 _And I suppose you are? Because of your bloodline?_ Ui grits his teeth. "Talent aside, that doesn't affect honesty, and you've no reason to doubt us."

Sasaki shifts. He cracks his knuckles, one at a time. Pop. Pop. Pop.

"Did you have a report about Mutsuki?" breaks in Hirako.

"No," Matsuri says. "We're just very cautious, and I don't want to let my grandfather down."

"I heard the best musicians take risks," Ui says.

Matsuri glowers at Ui. "Not the best teachers, though."

Hirako looks more surprised than Ui's ever seen him.

"I look forward to reading your evaluations at the end of the semester," Matsuri says coolly. "And assessing the concert you put on."

"Our students are doing their best," Ui says stiffly. Sasaki nods.

"Indeed. I'm sure." Matsuri adjusts his glasses. "You're all set," he says, waving his hand. "Have a good day."

Sasaki chirps his thanks and smiles at Ui before he leaves. Ui stands and adjusts his vest. He strides outside, Hirako on his heels. "What was that about?"

"Huh?" Ui turns to him as they head down the stairs together.

"You and Matsuri."

Ui lifts his shoulders. "He's got a fat head."

Hirako snorts. "That's true." He holds up his trombone case. "See you, Ui."

Ui pushes open the door to finds Furuta sitting on a bench outside, playing a game on his phone. "Come to see one of the professors?"

"Nope," Furuta chirps, leaping up. "You."

 _We are not best friends._ Ui grimaces, striding towards the library. Furuta walks with him uninvited.

"Matsuri's a bit uncomfortable," Furuta says. "Trying so hard to be perfect for his dearest grandfather. But you know he doesn't even love Iyo. He's gay."

Ui whirls around. "That's not something you should just casually say about someone."

Furuta holds his hands up in the air again. "Like I said. Everyone's got secrets, because everyone wants to be someone other than who they really are."

Ui snorts, staring at the birds gathering on the quad. Students picnic on blankets with each other. "And who do you want to be?"

"A clown," Furuta answers. "Like the drama club. My major, after all."

Ui laughs. Furuta joins in. "They're disgusting, aren't they? Laughing like they don't have a care in the world. They're not studying or working to honor their parents. See that boy, the one with the earring? He probably just wants to get into her pants. She probably—"

"Leave Ui alone, Nimura," cuts in a voice.

Ui turns to see Matsuri behind them. He blinks.

"I see you trying to weasel your way into getting a better—"

"He's not even in my section," Ui cuts in. Matsuri is hardly the person he wants to tell Furuta off.

"It's not a good idea for TAs to hang out with students, even so," Matsuri responds. "Rather sends the wrong message, Ui."

Ui thinks of Hairu. His cheeks flush, and he bets Matsuri's drawing all sorts of conclusions. "We are not hanging out. I'm giving him advice on how to study."

Furuta smiles at him.

Matsuri nods. "Best of luck." His voice is curt. He stalks back towards the parking lot.

"Was he dissing students as per usual?" Furuta asks. "I can hear him now. 'Oh, this one isn't fit because—'"

"He was asking questions about everyone who applied to be a tutor for high school," Ui says, watching Matsuri disappear down the hill. "Apparently if they aren't up to snuff, we'll be held responsible. They're all at that home, aren't they? Why do they care?"

Furuta plays with his own hair. A smirk plays with his lips. "Because they like control." And then he leaves.

Ui tries to push Matsuri's words out of his mind when he meets Hairu in a library nook tucked behind stacks and stacks of books, secluded and with thick drapes blocking the sunlight. She snuck melon buns in and offers him one. The bag crinkles.

"Food isn't allowed in here," he hisses.

Hairu shrugs and stuffs it into her mouth anyways. She pulls out her textbook and drops it onto his lap, peering up at him. He lets out an oof. That thing's heavy.

"I spent too much time in Kanou's lab today," Hairu grumbles. "I need sugar to function. I hate that man. Everyone who's ever worked for him hates him."

"You shouldn't speak ill of your advisor," Ui says automatically, before kicking himself. He'd just been talking back to Matsuri, after all. "Does he—act inappropriately?"

Hairu shakes her head. "He's just creepy. He doesn't seem to care about anything but his research. He's a slave driver."

"He might just want you to do well," Ui says.

Hairu snorts. "He tells me I'm stupid."

Ui claps the textbook shut. His nostrils flare. "No professor should insult their student. I'll talk to him."

"You're just a DMA student."

"I have to try."

Hairu laughs. "I like how you always try, Koori."

"No laughing!" barks the passing librarian. Hairu hides the melon buns behind her back. When she passes Hairu lets out a huge sigh of relief.

 _You don't want to be a biologist, do you?_ Ui thinks back to what Furuta said. If Hairu can get the best grades in musicology, maybe she can go to grad school for what she wants to do. "Let's study."

The next few hours pass with Hairu moaning and getting scolded again by the librarian as Ui drills her again and again and again. Coffee keeps them going. But she's going to understand this material if it kills him.

Ui wakes up around four in the morning, spine screaming in pain and neck feeling as if all the vertebrae slide out of place. He blinks, and it takes him a moment to realize that he's asleep. Drool crusts over his chin. _Ew!_

A snore echoes from next to him. He realizes there's a weight on his shoulder. Hairu leans against him, her textbook open in front of her.

He sits back, back snapping. "Dammit!"

Hairu jerks awake. "What the—the hell?"

"It's four am," Ui croaks, holding out his phone. His brain feels fuzzy, thoughts incomplete and molded.

"The library closes at two, Koori!"

Ui curses. He leaps to his feet, rushing down the hallway, using his phone's flashlight to keep from smacking into a bookshelf. He halts in front of the doors, grabbing the handles and rattling them. They're locked.

"Told you," Hairu says from behind him.

"Fuck." Ui yanks out his phone to call Hirako. It rings and rings and rings. "Wake up!"

He doesn't answer. Ui tries again. Nothing. "Dammit."

"Oh well," Hairu says, yawning. "I'll just sleep on the carpet."

"No," Ui says, turning his phone flashlight on. She's covering her mouth in a second huge yawn. "You have two days left, and you don't have classes until tomorrow afternoon. We might as well make the most of this time. We're going to study."

Hairu moans. Her head drops down onto the main desk. "You're cruel."

"I'd rather be cruel now than cruel when I'm grading your exam."

"Idiot. Arima will grade mine." Her voice comes muffled.

_Hairu, I grade your work. Hairu, Arima hasn't written a single comment on your papers or seen a single piece of work you've done. Hairu, Arima's missing out._

But he can't bear to see the look on her face if he tells her that.

* * *

"Ugh," Mutsuki says, gawping at his notebook. "This is—"

"You can do it," encourages Suzuya. Sasaki recommended they study together. "I used to suck at memorizing, but Shinohara taught me all sorts of tricks."

Mutsuki's teeth chatter. The mornings are still chilly, and they're headed to the library to study together. "Shinohara sounds wonderful." He sounds like Sasaki, actually.

"He is," Suzuya agrees, hopping over a crack on the pathway. He holds his hand out in front of him, red thread marring his skin.

"Do you visit him often?" Mutsuki asks.

Suzuya shakes his head. "No, but Hanbee sees him. Hanbee never even met him, but he just heard about him from me." He flaps his hands.

"Wow." Mutsuki shivers as cold air shimmies down his spine. Hanbee must have been really impressed. Or… hm. Mutsuki bites his lip.

"I was still in high school," Suzuya says. "I didn't want to play the oboe, but my therapist recommended it."

"Your therapist?" Mutsuki asks. _You—have one too?_ Thought Mutsuki doesn't have one anymore, not since his release.

Suzuya nods. "I was in this home after I—was rescued. From this woman who was—she was a bad person." He traces the threads on his neck, and Mutsuki's scars burn under his sweater and coat. _Do you mark yourself, Juuzou? Because you don't have scars?_

 _How can you want to announce to the world that you're fucked up?_ If Mutsuki could scrub it all away with a brillo pad, no matter how much it'd bleed, he would. But his scars are ugly. Suzuya, at least, can turn them into art. Maybe…

 _You can make something beautiful,_ his therapist told him.

 _Even if it makes me bleed?_ Mutsuki squeezes his wrist. He's afraid of the pain, which is wrong, because someone like him doesn't have the right to be.

"He was my teacher for the oboe," Suzuya says. "I could never be a professor like him, but he'd be proud I'm taking this class and taking part in the concert. And he will be. Once he wakes up."

If he's been in a coma for five years, Mutsuki isn't certain whether Shinohara can wake up. But he understands.

"Memories are just that, though," Suzuya says. "Someday he'll wake up, and we can make more. I—I need him. I'd give anything to have him back."

"Morning," calls another student Mutsuki's seen around, Furuta Nimura. He lingers outside the library, evidently waiting for it to open. Weird. From the little Mutsuki knows of him, he's not much of the study type. "How's it going? First wave of exams killing you yet?"

"We're going to study," Suzuya declares.

Furuta nods. "Rize said to meet me here. My guess is she's hungover in her bed though."

 _And you still came?_ Mutsuki frowns.

"Heard from Yasuhisa at all, Suzuya?" asks Furuta, leaning on the rail. He smirks at them.

"No," Suzuya says. "That crazy bitch can—"

"I think she just misses her sister, you know," says Furuta. "But since she's dead and buried, she doesn't have the luxury of hope. And that's disintegrated into hate. For you."

"Well, she should learn that attacking me isn't going to get her anywhere but destruction herself," Suzuya retorts.

Furuta grins. "Indeed." He hoists himself on the rail, sliding down. "Whee!"

The sound of footsteps clunk against the asphalt. Mutsuki turns. His stomach clenches. It's that weird security guard, the skinny one with the lazy eyes that glue themselves to Mutsuki as he passes. He hates that look. It brings him back to a bathroom, sends water shooting up his nostrils again.

"Early risers, eh?" Saeki unlocks the door to the library. The librarian rushes towards them, hurrying up the steps. Mutsuki follows Suzuya inside, skin crawling as Saeki watches him go. He freezes.

Ui Koori, their TA, and Ihei stagger towards them, both with giant circles under their eyes.

"Hi!" chirps Hairu. "We got locked in."

* * *

"They got what?" asks Urie, sitting on Mutsuki's bed.

"Locked in," Mutsuki reports, tapping away at his laptop. "Apparently." Urie's been coming to Mutsuki's room to study, since Shirazu and Saiko are always annoying him in his own room. Today Urie has paint on his knuckles, dried green and purple, and Mutsuki wonders why he's majoring in business if he likes painting so much.

"Ooooookay," says Urie, flipping through a page in his textbook.

"Urie?" Mutsuki asks, pushing himself up from where he's sprawled on the floor.

"Yeah?" Urie glances down at him.

"Will you be participating in the concert?" he asks, biting his lip. Blood breaks through the skin. He thinks of Urie's father. "We have to sign up by the end of tomorrow's exam, and I signed up, but I didn't see your name."

Urie grunts, turning back to his laptop.

"Do you just think there's no way you'll need to?" Mutsuki asks. He doubts that. Urie's way more insecure than his brash demeanor would suggest.

"I'll sign up tomorrow," Urie says. "We can do it together."

Mutsuki's eyes widen. "Oh. Okay."

"At least you study," says Urie. "The idiots in my room—Shirazu's never going to get any studying done because he's obsessed with trying to get Saiko to study, which is a losing battle."

"Shows how much you know," says a voice from the doorway. Mutsuki jumps. Shirazu leans against the doorjamb. "We're having a video game study party."

"How the fuck does that work?" Urie asks.

"We play a game up until we reach the end of a round or the end of a level, and then after one round is over, we have to study for the same amount of time," Shirazu reports. "I need the two of you to keep her to her promise."

"Good luck," Urie turns back to his notebook.

 _Oh, stop isolating yourself._ Mutsuki jumps to his feet. He nods at Shirazu and reaches down to grab Urie's wrists. "Come on, grumpy grape."

"Hey!" Urie yells as Mutsuki pulls him to his feet. "I'm not—your head looks like a dumb watermelon with your dumbass hair!"

"And I'm a pineapple, and Saiko's a blueberry," Shirazu says sarcastically. "Let's go, fruit heads."

Mutsuki scrambles down the hallway, Urie grumbling behind him.

"Yay, you're all here!" Saiko proclaims, sitting up on Shirazu's bed with a grin. "Time for fun."

"And studying," Shirazu reminds her.

She rolls her eyes. "What does it matter to you how I study?"

"Because," Shirazu says. "You have a ton of potential."

Saiko's eyes widen. She stands on top of the bed and kisses Shirazu, who turns bright red.

Well. Mutsuki smiles. _I belong,_ he thinks as they settle down with hot chocolate and textbooks. _I feel almost like I have a family._ Urie loses to Saiko and Mutsuki, but beats Shirazu, which he seems content with. At one point Saiko and Shirazu start making out, and Mutsuki slips back into his room. Urie looks as if he's going to kill the two lovebirds.

"You can sleep in my room for the night," Mutsuki offers, clutching his shirt. He hopes Urie doesn't take this the wrong way. "Since we have to be up early for the exam."

Urie's lips curl in a snarl, but then he clears his throat, nods, and grabs his pillow and a blanket. Mutsuki curls up in his bed, listening to the sound of Urie breathe on the floor. He wonders what Sasaki's doing right now. Hopefully he'll do well on the exam. "Urie?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm nervous."

"Sleeping will help," Urie informs him, rolling over. "But I am too." His voice comes muffled.

"That makes me feel better," Mutsuki admits, and then he rolls over too, back to Urie.

When his alarm blares the next morning, he scrambles to switch it off and trips over Urie. "Oof!" His foot lands in Urie's stomach. He slams into the ground, tumbling on top of Urie.

"Ow!" Urie grunts. The alarm still wails. He pushes back and gapes at Mutsuki. Their faces are inches apart. His pillow crease is indented on his cheek. "S-sorry." Urie's knee jabs into Mutsuki's stomach.

"I'm the one who tripped over you," Mutsuki croaks. He disentangles himself from Urie. "Sorry." He turns off the alarm and then realizes. Urie's knees were not the part of Urie pressing into him.

Urie turns away from Mutsuki, quickly gathering his blankets. His head's lowered.

Mutsuki swallows. It's biologically normal. Morning wood. "Sorry," he says again. "D-did you sleep all right? We're going to rock this exam, right?"

Urie turns to face him, a small smile on his lips. "Yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Ui grades exams and encounters a certain gourmet, and Takizawa helps Akira send her applications.


	8. Love is Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

"Grades set?"

Ui nods, handing over the exams to Arima. Hirako rubs his eyes, and Sasaki cracks his knuckles. Ui's stomach gurgles as it tries to adjust to all the coffee he drank. He's been grading for six hours. It's almost eleven pm. His knuckles feel swollen and his neck throbs. Hairu's exam is on the top. She didn't do perfectly—no one did—but she got a 98. The highest score in the class, tied with Urie Kuki.

Arima takes the heavy stack of papers. He exhales, staring at his computer screen. The lights are turned down low. He squints, rubbing his temples.

"More lights might help," Ui says. "Just saying. You don't want to go blind."

Arima stiffens. Hirako studies his shoes[Publish+](https://www.fanfiction.net/account/settings.php#).

"You know," Ui says. "The girl who did best on the exam. Ihei. Ihei Hairu. She says she knew you as a child. She says you inspired her. And now look at her. She's getting the best grades on your exam." To hell with Urie Kuki.

Arima nods. He pinches the bridge of his nose and reaches for his mug of coffee.

 _You aren't even going to say anything?_ Ui glares at him. _Say something. Anything!_

Is this because of where she comes from? He can't say anything with Hirako and Sasaki around. Ui's fists knot at his sides. _Can't you even just say to me that she did a good job, so I can tell her? Can't you acknowledge that she's working for you at all?_

He's such an idiot, Arima. "She's a dedicated student," Ui adds. One last desperate attempt.

"Glad to hear it." Arima types her grade into the system in his computer.

 _Fine then._ Ui grits his teeth and stalks out. Sasaki and Hirako follow, both sighing. Sasaki rolls his neck around.

He deserves to have his skeletons exposed. Ui remembers something he learned in undergrad. Teaching is 10% knowledge and 90% relationship. Arima's 100% knowledge. If he didn't care about his students, how dare he expect everyone to adore him? How dare he take their love for granted? Especially love like Hairu's.

"You okay, Ui?" Hirako asks cautiously.

He nods, forcing a smile. "Just tired." He fumbles to pull out a cigarette. He can't wait to light it.

"Those are going to give you lung cancer," Sasaki comments.

Ui glares at him as he shoves the glossy glass door open. "I didn't ask you."

"He's right though!" chirps a voice. Ui jumps. Eto flits past him, ducking through the thin gap between the doors.

"Hey!" yells Ui. "You're not allowed! It's closing!"

Eto cups her hand around her ear, gesturing as if to say _I can't hear you._

"You can totally hear!" Ui shouts, tugging at the door. Of course it's locked on him. Sasaki's jaw hangs open. "Stop faking!"

Eto rolls her eyes and marches back towards the door, cracking it. "I'm a professor and what are you?" Her eyes scan Ui, Hirako, and Sasaki. "Two DMA students and a lowly masters student. Fuck off."

Ui's jaw drops. Did she just—

"I'm on my way to see if Arima wants to fuck on his desk," Eto says. "Cheerio."

Ui wants to vanish.

"Liar," says Sasaki.

Eto chortles. "You have some nerve calling me that, Kaneki Ken."

 _Huh?_ Ui turns to stare at Sasaki. The moonlight glints against the glass doors, a distorted stain.

"I know more than any of you," Eto informs them. "I know you all better than you know yourselves. Hirako Take, you'd give your life for Arima Kishou, but you'd resent him even as you did it, but such is your lot in life. Ui Koori, you just care about making yourself feel good; that's all your sense of justice is. You think too much of yourself: that if you work hard enough you can help the world but the truth is your idea of helping the world is just about making yourself feel good. Sasaki Haise, you think a new name will erase the past, but guess what? It's here to stay. There's a pretty waitress waiting for you if you decide to get off your ass and do something. And Arima Kishou? Don't worry, he's too cold to consider fucking me; I'd burn him up."

Hirako's jaw hangs open. For once his calm façade's broken. Sasaki's cowering. And Ui—how _dare_ this bitch?

"But alas," Eto says. "Arima's going blind. So. Glaucoma, you know? Genetic quirk." She lets the door shut then.

Ui turns to stare at both Hirako and Sasaki. Sasaki clutches his knees, doubled over. "If that's true," Ui croaks out. "Then we're—he's—"

"She's a liar," Sasaki whispers.

 _Kaneki_. That name Ui didn't recognize. _Why are you going by a fake name?_ He wants to demand answers. But he also wants to take up a sword and defend himself from that bullshit she spewed at him, use a shield to defend Hirako.

Ui turns and stalks off. Arima…

He pulls out his phone and types out an email. To Furuta. But when he showers and gets into bed, he can't sleep. Around one, Ui pushes himself up and checks his email. He turns his music on shuffle. It starts playing Faust. Of course it does.

_I'm your man and so, if it suits you of course, I'm your slave; I'm yours!_

_That's lame_ , says Furuta. _Glaucoma's hardly a skeleton_. _Maybe you should go to a café called :re. Ask about Kaneki Ken._

Ui frowns. He thought Furuta was going to help him. The music creeps through the air, vibrating his phone.

Another email pops into his inbox. Again, from Furuta. _You should work for it, after all._

This isn't something he should be working towards, and he knows it. He should trust his mentor.

He remembers Arima's coldness towards Hairu, and he wants to punch his pillow, punch himself, because he really is the worst. Even though he made sure Hirako graded her exam and not himself. Why has he let this happen? Why is he so weak? Why can't he stop this? Why is he such a degenerate?

He does want to do the right thing. He always has. And when he's around her, he laughs. He'd forgotten what that felt like, chest muscles rumbling and air breaking apart in his throat.

" _If you get this DMA, Koori, you'll be wasting your potential," Father railed. "Go into something useful! Don't shame us by being the first to fail to make something of your life."_

But Ui remembers how violin helped him chases away anxiety chewing on his elbows, jab his worst insecurities in the face. And he always remembered his teacher when he was a child, the one who used music as therapy to help children. That's what Ui's wanted to do. Help kids. The right thing. Make a better world. _It's not about me._ It's not.

 _When we're together, on the other side, you'll do the same for me._ He turns the music off.

* * *

Akira flexes her fingers. She furrows her brow, staring at her screen. The letters are starting to blur together, a long kanji centipede that crawls into her eyes. Tea grows cold next to her, tea that Sasaki brought her because he knew she would be sending in these applications today.

Amon's recommendations were already sent in. He sent her a copy, too, so she could see what he said. He surprised her. He didn't even mention her father. Instead he just wrote about _her_ achievements. It feels strange, cold and lonely, to stand on a bridge of her own merits. She hopes they're enough to carry her across.

"Yo," says a voice behind her. Akira jumps. Takizawa stands there, tank top wrinkled and stained with coffee, loose flannel shirt hanging off him. "What's up?"

"Sending applications," Akira responds. She forces herself to start at the beginning again.

"How many times have you reread this?" Takizawa asks, sipping his coffee. The musty smell of books saturates the air. Akira finds it comforting. She used to wait here for her father after elementary school.

Akira shakes her head. "It needs to be perfect."

"Hate to break it to you, Mado, but nothing's ever perfect, so this won't be either. It just needs to be enough to get you in."

"How am I supposed to know what's enough?" Akira snaps. The ticking of the clock in the background cuts into her.

"Ask your boyfriend."

"Hey!" Akira's face colors. Then again, they aren't exactly keeping it a secret. But the recommendations were at least written before they got together. She had an appointment earlier today, to get a birth control implant in her arm. She felt like a real adult.

"He'd be happy to help you, Mado," says Takizawa, gulping more coffee.

"He did already," Akira admits. "He says it's good to go. I'm just—"

Takizawa frowns. He leans over her shoulder, scanning the form. "Scared that once you press send you won't have any control anymore?"

"Why do I get the feeling that's a backhanded insult?" Akira grumbles. _Why are you like this._

"It's not. It's a fact." Takizawa smiles at her. "It looks good to me. I mean I know I'm worthless, but—"

"Stop with your self-pity." Akira glares at him. And then she reaches out and clicks send.

Takizawa's eyes widen. A smirk spreads across his lips. He holds up his hand for a high five.

"What have I done," Akira whispers. She slumps in her chair.

"Said _fuck off_ to this tragic place," says Takizawa. "Come on, Mado."

Akira lifts her hand and pokes his palm. "Yay?"

"That doesn't count. You're lame."

"You're a loser."

Takizawa shrugs. "Off to practice. See ya, Mado. Good job."

Akira lets out her breath. She shuts her laptop and stuffs it into her bag to head back to her apartment. On second thought… she stops at Amon's place, knocking.

The door opens, and Akira can't contain herself. "I sent my applications and I want you to distract me so I don't refresh my screen every two seconds until I hear back even though that won't be for like another three months."

Amon steps back to her let in. "Are you okay?"

Akira rolls her eyes. "Yeah." She slings her bag down and pauses, frowning at an envelope she spots on Amon's coffee table. Her fingers reach for it.

"Akira…" Amon sighs.

It's from a correctional facility. Akira peers up at him. "Donato?"

Amon nods. She waits, knees aching from how she's crouched on the floor. But Amon says nothing. Just like he always says nothing about the man who raised him. All she knows is that his parents died when he was a toddler, and a former drama professor at Washuu University who decided to become a priest raised him. And then he was arrested. For hurting children.

"Do you have anything you need to tell me?" Akira finally prompts. Don't keep it all inside, she wants to tell him. Because that's what she does, and it destroys her. She wants to cry. She doesn't know how to help him. Or herself.

"No." Amon reaches for the letter, ripping it from her hand. "We—he writes to me every few months. I throw them out without reading them."

"Why?" demands Akira.

"Because he still thinks that what happened—that we were close—that it was genuine—when he was really just a complete—" Amon's fists curl. His face purples. "He was a murderer, and a—a hypocrite and he made me—"

Akira gets to her feet. She wraps her arms around Amon, hiding her face in his chest. She wishes she knew what to say.

"He isn't my father," Amon says, gulping. He exhales, breath shaky against Akira's scalp. "Even if he still writes to me like he is. Your father was more of a father to me."

Is that what he needs? Akira nods. "Does he really expect you to acknowledge him as a father?" _What a prick._

"No," Amon says. "I mean, yes. I mean, I don't know." He pulls away and she feels cold. He drops onto the couch, head resting in his hands. "He just wants to know how I'm doing. It's like he's trying to pretend to be an actual father but he can't be; he's a monster. Monsters can't love. Monsters are evil and he's the worst of the worst—he hurt _children_ —"

Akira perches next to him. She lowers her head. _Say something. Anything._ She wonders whether Amon always keeps his apartment this goddamn chilly. "My father was a good dad. He used to have tea parties with me."

Amon snorts. "Why does that not surprise me? I loved your father. He was more of my real father."

Akira thinks of Fueguchi Hinami, the look on her face when she saw Akira, the way her eyes broke and that boy who was with her—he looked like he would break into a maximum security prison to save Hinami. _That's love._

After the explosion, her father's death was mostly forgotten, save for that bench. She can't fault people. That tragedy was… more than Akira wants to think about. She remembers it happening, remembers the alarms blaring on her phone and hunkering down in her dorm, calling Takizawa and Amon and not being able to reach them for over two hours. They were both fine.

But then Takizawa left, and Amon turned down her kiss.

And for Fueguchi, no one remembers him. His research has turned to dust. His performances, forgotten. Just like he deserved.

Didn't he?

"Amon," Akira begins. "What happened with my father and Fueguchi? He never talked about it much."

Amon lifts his shoulders. "He simply wasn't putting in the appropriate amount of work. And he was disrespecting your mother, or something like that."

"Huh?" Akira's never heard that part. Her mother was dead. And had been for years.

"He redid one of her compositions. Your father was upset over that, but that wasn't why he fired him. He fired him for being lazy."

Akira nods. Her father wasn't that petty. He wasn't. He simply wasn't. He loved her. He gave her tea parties. But the lack of work sounds... odd to her too. _What is the truth?_ Does it matter? Shouldn't she just trust him? He's her father.

Amon turned her down once. He won't dodge this time. Akira dives at him, pressing her lips into him, chapped skin rubbing against chapped skin.

* * *

:re is exactly the sort of café Hairu would love and the sort Ui wants to run away screaming from. He just hopes no idiots key his car just for kicks while he's inside.

The inside smells like cinnamon and nutmeg and coffee. Ui spots melon buns and wonders if he should buy them for Hairu. He handed her back her exam today. Urie Kuki nodded to himself in satisfaction when he saw his grade, Mutsuki Tooru smiled, Shirazu Ginshi gave Yonebayashi Saiko a high five for her C, and Hairu… she hurried out of the classroom before he could see her reaction.

Ui orders a black coffee, large, from a man with white hair and a scowl deeper than the Mariana Trench. How the fuck is he supposed to bring up Kaneki Ken? A google search revealed… nothing.

"Why _bonjour_ ," an affected voice said from behind him. "You do look ever so familiar."

Ui whirls around. A man with distinctive hair, now tinted blue instead of the purple he remembers, dressed in an elaborate purple suit and with the cheekbones of a model, smirks at him. Ui's eyes narrow. "Tsukiyama Shuu."

"C'est moi," Tsukiyama proclaims. "Yo, Yomo. Same cappuccino as always, darling."

"Do not refer to me like that," Yomo says flatly, handing Ui his coffee. Ui gives him a tip just for having to handle Tsukiyama.

They went to undergrad together. Tsukiyama was a pianist. And a royal pain in the ass.

"A mutual friend told me we should talk," Tsukiyama says, hand squeezing Ui's shoulder. "About Kaneki Ken."

Ui's eyes narrow. A chill skips down his spine. "How do you know Furuta?"

"Long story. We're not close; he's a bit of a bastard," Tsukiyama says. Yomo turns the steam machine on, and Tsukiyama cringes at the squealing noise. "But he said you know him. Kaneki Ken. And that he was back here."

"I remember you never shutting up about him, and yet he was so mysterious we all wondered if he actually existed," Ui retorts. "And I don't know a Kaneki Ken. I know a Sasaki Haise."

"But Touka and Nishiki say—" Tsukiyama blows out his breath. Yomo hands over the coffee. Tsukiyama accepts it and jerks his head towards the overstuffed chairs by the empty fireplace. "Care to join me?"

 _No_. But he has to. Ui follows him over to the chairs. He sips the coffee. Instead of the watery excuse he expects, it's actually good. Strong. Rich. _Hm_.

"I met Kaneki though Kirishima Touka," says Tsukiyama. "She owns this café."

"She's the one who—Mado Kureo—"

"Yeah," says Tsukiyama, rolling his eyes. "She is." He digs through his wallet and pulls out a photo. "Is—is this him?"

A boy with dark hair smiled shyly at the camera. Ui pinches his nose. "Yes."

Tsukiyama lets out a cry. He grabs Ui's arm. "I've missed him so!"

_What does this have to do with Arima?_

"Tsukiyama," says a voice behind them. Ui looks up to see a rather pretty girl with short blue hair looking at them. "Leave him be. He's happy."

"How can he be happy when he can't even face us?" cries out Tsukiyama. "He's lonely, Touka!"

The girl—Kirishima Touka—turns to look at Ui. And there's something in her eyes, a brokenness, like she's bleeding. "Is he?"

"He's doing well," Ui says. "Masters program. Hard, but he's doing well, and Arima's mentoring him." He looks back at Tsukiyama, whose eyes bulge. "If you want to see him, just come onto campus." Ui glances around the café. It's largely empty right now, probably given the early afternoon hour. The masks are eerie. He doesn't like it. It feels like the creepiness might rub off him.

"I can't," Tsukiyama points out. "After the explosion they're cautious. You can't get on campus unless you have a pass." His teeth gleam. "Ui—Koori—"

"You strike me as a stalker, so no," says Ui. He's going to kill Furuta. This is a waste of time. "What the fuck does this have to do with Arima? Were they friends before he went off to school—wherever he went—or—"

Tsukiyama shook his head. "He was going to go to Washuu before the incident—but—" He grabs Ui's arms. "You have to tell him! You have to tell him Tsukiyama Shuu—"

"If he wanted Kaneki Ken to still exist, he wouldn't have changed his name," snaps Touka. She looks to Ui. "Let him be happy."

"He can't—"

"I'm leaving," Ui declares, yanking his arms out of Tsukiyama's sticky grasp. "If I see you around campus, I'll call the cops, Tsukiyama Shuu. You always were the obsessive type." He's going to literally kill Furuta. How much does he have to bribe Amon to fail him? Not really. That would be wrong. But damn if it isn't tempting. This was always a shack on a beach to shelter him from a storm, but it wouldn't stand any longer. He's done with this wild goose chase.

"Shuu, he isn't kidding—Shuu, stop!" Touka shouts as Ui strides towards the door. A clatter echoes, as if Tsukiyama leaped to his feet.

"Do I need to get involved?" comes Yomo's dry voice. Ui escapes, dragging his hands through his hair. The sun beats down on him. He shakes his head as he walks towards his car.

Only to find a boy with a lavender bob leaning against it. For a moment Ui presumes he's scratching the car up, but no, the boy's arms are crossed.

"Ui Koori," says the boy—scratch that, the _girl_. "What did you tell Tsukiyama about Kaneki Ken?"

"Go away." Ui yanks open the driver's side door. The boy pulls open the passenger side and jumps in. "Hey!" Ui shouts. "Do you want me to call the cops?" He readies his fist to deck this fool.

"No," says the girl. "I'm Karren von Rosewald. I'm Tsukiyama's—I work for his family. As a servant. He's been—struggling—he's sick and lonely, and if Kaneki's back, that could—"

" _Sasaki_ has no interest in—"

"Kaneki Ken took a gap year after high school," interrupts Karren, "He was in a car accident though. One that—he was driving, there was fire, and his best friend, Nagachika—well. He lost part of his face. Kaneki went to a different school then, instead of Washuu like he planned."

Ui's mind whirls. _Furuta, was_ she _the person you wanted me to talk to instead of Tsukiyama?_ "Was it his fault?"

"Kind of," says Karren. "But Shuu misses him still. Even though Kaneki left them all without a word. He misses him because he love him, even though he'll never be in love with Tsukiyama."

Ui stiffens. He thinks of Hairu. She does love Arima, doesn't she? "What happened?"

"He'd been hanging around the café and working part-time there," says Karren, huddling in on herself. "Earning money to go to school because his aunt cut him off, and his mother—and his father—they were dead." Her voice catches. "But then he just… disappeared. He was in a car accident the day of the explosion at Washuu University. I remember getting texts from Tsukiyama, all frantic. Kaneki wasn't harmed, but Hide—Hide kept getting bumped from surgery since it wasn't that serious comparatively, and Kaneki couldn't face him, so he left."

"Huh?" Ui doesn't follow.

"He was supposed to go to Washuu University after his gap year," says Karren. "But then after the explosion, he went off to a different school and no one heard from him, until he decided to show up in town as Sasaki Haise, new name and working for Arima Kishou."

Ui doesn't understand. He squints. "Was he working with Arima beforehand?"

Karren shakes her head. "He was—he had a—he was dating this girl. Not seriously, for her, but for him—Kamishiro Rize. She goes to Washuu now, doesn't she?"

 _Rize_. Ui's eyes pop. "Yeah. She's not in my class though." _Furuta… Is this about me or is this about you?_

He has no right to ask that question. Eto's words linger in his ears. Shame crumples his lungs. Ui can't breathe. _Am I really trying to gather dirt that's just old gossip on a colleague? On my boss?_

"He wanted to help her with something," Karren says with a shrug. "I have no idea why he's now pretending we don't exist, or what he's doing with Arima." She snorts. "He kept saying that he had to help her. But of course, he wouldn't tell anyone with what, even after they broke up—which didn't take long, by the way. Kaneki has to do everything on his own."

Ui isn't certain he knows Sasaki well enough to say. His heart pounds. He wants Karren out of his car. And he wants to delete every email he's ever exchanged with Furuta. But dammit, the man will probably have his own copies of them, and if Ui ever gets caught— _fuck, fuck, fuck_! He'll be kicked out. For sure. And his parents will—the smug look on his father's face, the face he always makes when he's happy Koori's failed— _I won't be like you, I'll be a hero._ The respect his father carried never made up for his malicious disrespect of Ui's mother.

"No one in this town can move any kind of tragedy," Karren says. "No one has moved past the explosion as much as they like to pretend they have. Trust me, I've been here since my parents died. No one's moving past anything. The only way you can escape is if you leave."

"Then why are you still here?" Ui croaks. _Get out._

Karren smiles bleakly. Golden light filters around her. "I love Tsukiyama Shuu."

"That's unfortunate." Ui rubs his head. This isn't giving him answers. Did Sasaki return under a fake name to atone for what he did to his friend? Can an alias atone in your stead? _No_.

Then again, Ui remembers that Sasaki and Arima have regular meetings. _What are you up to?_

Karren scowls at him.

Just hearsay and suspicions. And now he's no better than Arima.

"You play violin, don't you?" asks Karren. "Like Arima?"

"Yeah, why?" Ui demands.

"I do too. Even without formal training. Tsukiyama Mirumo wouldn't pay for an orphan to go to school, and I wasn't able to try for a scholarship."

Ui's lips curl. "If they treat you like shit, why are you still sticking around? He isn't worth it."

"To me, he's everything," Karren declares. Her pink eyes narrow.

"Please get out of my car," says Ui. "What did Furuta offer you to tell me this?"

Karren blinks. "Who's Furuta? Just—keep Sasaki away, please. "

"Fine. Get out." Ui yanks out his phone as Karren obeys. He taps out a text to Furuta. _What the fuck?_

Ui stares at his hands, gripping the steering wheel. _I'm awful._

And he has no idea how to pull himself out of the muck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Hairu gets sick, and also there's tragedy.


	9. Perchance to Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

"Have a good night, Ui," calls Sasaki, slipping out of Arima's office. His frown carves deep into his chin.

 _What were you talking about?_ Ui packs up his violin. He keeps running Tsukiyama's words through his mind. Kaneki wanted to help Rize, but with what? How? If anything, Ui would say Rize needs saving from herself. Just like Furuta says. The girl's out of control. Supposedly they caught her staggering across campus half-naked the other day, drunk out of her mind. Has she really been that bad that long?

He slips into a practice room and closes his eyes, feeling the violin in his hands, The first notes of music bleed into the air, and he thinks of his parents, and then he thinks of Hairu. She ran out of class right after he gave her exam back today, but he hopes she's pleased. She should be.

_An instrument can't comfort someone._

_You're wrong,_ Ui thought then, and he thinks again now. It's all he has. The notes carry him back, and he remembers Hairu's smile, the hop in her step, the way she chews with her mouth open sometimes, the way her bangs fall over her face.

Ui finishes the piece. Applause breaks out behind him.

Ui jumps. He whirls around to see Hairu leaning against the door. "You didn't shut it all the way."

"Oh," he says, voice small. "I—"

"That was incredible," Hairu breathes. She beams at him. "It's beautiful. You should teach me how to play that sometime."

"Um, sure," Ui stammers. "Thank you." He ducks his head, hoping his bowl cut covers his burning face. "Are you practicing tonight?"

"I wanted to, but there's no point."

Ui glances up to see Hairu leaning against the wall, her arms wrapped around herself and head hanging. "Is something wrong?"

She lifts her shoulders. "I didn't do so well on the exam."

Ui blinks. The blaring light overhead taps at his eyes. "Hairu, you got exactly one question wrong."

"It's not enough. I need a perfect grade." Hairu gulps. "I'll definitely get it next time."

 _Well, maybe_. Ui curls his lips. "I think a 98 is pretty impressive."

"Still room for improvement." Hairu sighs. "To impress Arima."

Ui bites his tongue so hard bitter blood fills his mouth.

Hairu's stomach growls. Ui latches onto the distraction. "Did you forget to go to the dining hall again?"

She casts him a wry look. "Koori, their food sucks."

He turns away from her, packing up his violin, fitting the instrument into its velvet-lined case. "Fair enough. I don't have money to buy you melon buns tonight."

"That's okay." Hairu sighs. "I'm going to practice after all."

Ui snaps his case shut. He turns and looks at her hands. "Not with fingers like that."

"Huh?"

He reaches out, grabbing her hands. He isn't holding her hand. Just examining her fingers. Her skin is smooth, soft, except for the areas where it's red and irritated. "Three blisters. No. That's an order from your TA."

Hairu's eyes, glassy, narrow. "You can't stop me, _Sir_ Koori."

 _Stop with the Sir Koori_. "I'll feed you. At my apartment. I have food." He lets go of her hand and digs his fingernails into his own palm.

"Instant ramen?" Hairu snickers. "I have that myself."

"No, Hairu, I actually cook."

"You?" Her jaw drops.

He nods. "That's not weird. I live on my own. I have to cook." He flicks the light off in the practice room, exiting.

She trots after him. "I'll let you know if it's good or not."

He takes it that's a yes, and he can't protest. "How many nights have you eaten instant ramen this week?" Ui asks. "I don't trust your taste."

Hairu chortles. The sound is like music. Ui wants to kick himself. _I really am the worst._

Hairu babbles about the piece she's learning for the concert and how worried she is, and Ui hustles her across campus and towards graduate housing. He spots Furuta Nimura and curses. The guy gives him a thumbs up. _It's not like that!_

He ushers her into his apartment, grateful he keeps everything neat and orderly. Hairu peers at the photos on the wall, photos of horses, and the sheet music resting on the glass coffee table. Ui flicks the stove on, grabbing the leftovers he just needs to heat up. Stir fry. With meat and vegetables. Hairu will like it. He hopes. It starts to rain outside, thunder rolling and crashing, rain lashing the windows.

"Okay," Hairu says when they sit down on the floor to eat. "You're good. I'll give you that. I once almost burned down my dorm when I was scrambling eggs."

Ui laughs. His heart flutters. _She likes it. She said I was good_.

But then he realizes she's not finishing it. Hairu yawns and pushes the food around, occasionally taking a bite. "If you don't like it, you can say so."

"That's not it. It's delicious. I'm just sleepy." Hairu folds over, leaning her head on the table and moaning. "What if that's not even enough, Koori?"

"Enough—food?" he asks. "It's definitely not." _I shouldn't have added so much spice. It's my fault._

"Me. If I get all 100s and participate in class and keep doing better and better and do great in the concert, what if it's still not enough for Arima to notice me?" She cranes her neck, looking up at him. "I need him to notice me, Koori. I want to be praised. By him."

The spice is suddenly too much for Ui, searing his stomach. He sets his bowl down. "I think it's enough, and if Arima doesn't laud you, that's on him for being an idiot."

Hairu gasps. "He's not!"

"Why do you like him so much anyways?" Ui demands. _Shit, Ui. That sounded accusatory._

But Hairu smiles as if she didn't notice a thing. "If I tell you a secret, will you not tell anyone?"

Ui's heart pounds. He nods. "I promise."

"My dad—I'm a bastard. I was born to the mistress of one of Tsuneyoshi's best friends but then the friend died and my mother didn't want me so they raised me. Except I was kind of an unwanted kid and that was pretty obvious." Hairu frowns. "Arima is Washuu Tsuneyoshi's bastard son. That's how we met—he came from so low and had risen so high—he gave me hope I'd be more than a worthless waste of space. That's the only memory I have of my mother. When she called me that."

Ui's chest constricts. He can't breathe. _Arima—is Tsuneyoshi's son?_ And fuck that—what Hairu said—"That's bullshit. What your mother said—what you feel—it's all bullshit, you can succeed on your own merit, where you come from doesn't matter."

"It does." Hairu straightens, tucking her knees into her chest. She rests her chin on her kneecaps and scowls. "They told me I had to major in biology so as not to overshadow Tsuneyoshi's kids. But I wanted to do well anyways." Her lip trembles. "I hate biology, and I hate Kanou. He's slimy."

 _Kids? So... Furuta?_ "You are enough," Ui says, remembering what she said earlier. "Hairu, you are enough."

"I've heard you call me brainless before." She snickers. "It's funny because it's true, but I don't care, so long as I can still impress—" Her voice trails off. She wipes at her forehead. Her teeth chatter.

Ui frowns. He gets to his knees and reaches out for her.

She looks up at him, mouth opening. She's so close. Her face turns up to him. Pink strands stick to her temples.

His palm presses her forehead. As he thought. "You have a fever."

"Huh?" Hairu flinches. "No, I don't—I have to go to class tomorrow—"

"You get a day off from Kanou's lab. Attendence doesn't factor into grading." Ui gets to his feet and scrambles towards his bathroom. He yanks out a thermometer and hands it to Hairu. "Here."

She sticks it under her tongue. He sits next to her, waiting. Of course, it shows she has a fever.

"Sorry I infected your place," Hairu says with a yawn. She's shivering. "All my muscles ache."

Knowing her, he'd never hear from her until she wound up in the hospital for not drinking water in 48 hours. "You can't walk back there in this weather," Ui blurts out. "It's on the other side of campus."

Hairu shrugs. "What am I supposed to do?"

Ui gulps. "You could stay here. I—I have pajamas you can borrow; you can stay in my bed. I'll take the couch."

Hairu blinks up at him. "Are you sure?"

He nods.

"'Kay." Hairu's head lolls back against the couch. Her face looks pallid. Of course she got sick. She's working herself to death. And she's too tired to be a pain in the ass.

Ui rushes into his bedroom, grabbing a bottle of ibuprofen and some clean, old pajamas. He hands them to her. "Take two."

She scowls. "I don't like taking pills. They're scary to swallow."

"Why am I not surprised?" Ui shakes his head. "You still have to take it."

"You're being mean to a sick girl," whines Hairu as she shuffles towards his bathroom.

Ui snorts. The moment the door closes behind her, he grips his skull. _What am I_ doing? But she really is sick… and so lonely. He would punch her parents if he could. And Tsuneyoshi… what a dick.

A knock sounds at his door. Ui frowns and answers.

Hirako stands there, dripping wet. His shiba rolls on the floor. "You forgot your phone."

"Oh!" Ui reaches for it. "Thanks."

The bathroom door creaks open behind him. Hirako's eyes bloom to the size of saucers as Hairu shuffles out behind him, wearing Ui's soft blue silk pajamas. She waves at Hirako.

He does not wave back, but turns his gaze to Ui. "You—"

"It's not like that!" Ui hisses as Hairu disappears into his bedroom. "She's sick. Really sick—she has a fever."

Hirako crosses his arms over his chest. Ui wants to vanish. "Okay," Hirako says. "If you say so. Have a good night, Ui." He tugs at his dog's leash, and they head down the hall.

 _Fuck_. Ui steps out of the door. "Hirako?"

He turns around.

"I think you should grade her papers from now on," Ui manages, blood scalding his face.

Hirako nods.

"I've—I've never really boosted her grade because of—" Ui feels as if he's breaking apart from shame. "I promise, Hirako. I—" His head hangs. _I've just been trying to dig up dirt on Arima so she'll love me instead but there's no point now, is there? Furuta must have known this. He was stringing me along the whole time._ "We're not involved."

"Ui," Hirako says. "I believe you."

Ui lifts his head. He nods.

"Take care of her," Hirako says.

Ui shuts the door. Thunder rumbles outside, and a chill runs down his spine.

* * *

"Movie wasn't half-bad," says Shirazu as they all slide into the car after him. Mutsuki and Urie are in the back together.

"I thought it was lame," says Urie, leaning his head against the window.

"I liked it," says Mutsuki.

Urie makes a face at him. But it's not mean; Mutsuki catches a glimpse of a smile on his lips. Saiko chuckles and starts babbling about the film.

"Want to stop for coffee? I think :re is still open at this hour," Shirazu says.

Mutsuki bites his lip. He's not certain how he feels about stopping by that place. He remembers Sasaki's eyes when he saw that girl. It's a look Mutsuki would give anything to see on someone's face when they look at him.

He remembers the cats, and he hunches over.

"Yes!" Saiko chirps. "Though I'll have hot chocolate." They babble around him, his friends, but their words float in and out Mutsuki's ears, never quite sticking in his brain. His chest's too tight. _The cat. The cat._

_Murderer._

The street leading up to :re is crowded with cars. Shirazu's eyebrows raise. "Maybe they're having a party."

"A show," Saiko proclaims. "They have a lot of live bands. Or really just one that they invite over and over again."

Mutsuki climbs out of the car that Shirazu parks on the street. Thunder rumbles overhead. He frowns, peering up at the sky. He didn't bring an umbrella.

The café is warm, fireplace lit, and the emo boy Mutsuki remembers seeing before plays guitar. Fueguchi Hinami perches at a table nearby, smiling.

"Waitress is cute," remarks Shirazu, gesturing to the girl with blue hair. Mutsuki's mouth goes dry. Is that the kind of girl men are attracted to?

He orders iced coffee again, taking a seat towards the back with the others. Urie frowns at him.

"What?" Mutsuki asks.

"Nothing," Urie snaps. He drums his fingers on the table. Saiko claps as the song ends. A man with slicked blond hair starts dancing with a salmon-haired woman.

"You kids ought to dance," says a handsome man with blue hair as the waitress comes back with their drinks. Saiko's hot chocolate overflows with whipped cream, and she squeals. "Have a little fun."

"I don't dance," Urie retorts.

Mutsuki laughs. Urie scowls.

"Urie's _too cool_ to dance," Shirazu informs the blue-haired man. "Can't you just see the _coolness_ oozing off him?"

"No," says the blue-haired man. He winks, flitting off. Mutsuki sips his coffee. It's good, but strong, bitter. Fueguchi Hinami climbs on top of a table, reaching out to hold the guitarist's hands. They laugh as if their lives are happy. A heaviness seeps into Mutsuki's bones. He thinks of Sasaki. He takes care of Mutsuki—like he cares, and Mutsuki— _maybe I love him._

At least, when he thinks of Sasaki, he feels a tightness in his chest, but a lightness in his head. It's not a feeling he's familiar with. At school, before he was taken away, he saw other students who loved their parents, whose parents bought them cookies and did their hair and played soccer with them. His father did all of that for Mutsuki's bother, but not for Mutsuki. Mutsuki got bathtubs and water and instead of _good jobs_ got told he was disgusting.

Of course, his father was right after all, in the end. Mutsuki stares at his hands, wrapped so tightly around the glass that his knuckles turn white.

 _You have a second chance,_ his therapist told him. And of course, the unspoken threat: _I've put so much time into you that you better not blow this._

Saiko finishes her hot chocolate, reaching for Shirazu's hand. She drags him over to where a group of people are dancing.

"I've seen you dance before," says Urie.

"Huh?" Mutsuki drains his coffee. "When?"

"Itou's party," Urie says, glancing away from Mutsuki. "You're not half-bad."

"I bet you'd be better," Mutsuki says. He can hear his father now. _Dancing makes you look like the slut you are._

"No," says Urie. "I'd be stiffer than a board. Better than Takeomi, of course, but—"

"I don't know," says Mutsuki, determined to press his father's voice out of his mind. "Takeomi was pretty good dancing with Yoriko, after all."

Urie's face reddens. Mutsuki jumps to his feet and holds out his hand. "We can go slow. Just copy what I do."

Urie snorts, but he gets to his feet instead of shoving Mutsuki away. He holds his hands out as a piano ballad comes on, played by a man with white hair and a red scarf.

Mutsuki puts Urie's hands on him, one on his shoulder and one around his waist. It's fine. Urie won't hurt him. "Slow song," Mutsuki jokes, stepping to the side. Urie copies, and then steps on Mutsuki's foot and curses. Mutsuki just smiles.

Thunder rages outside. Mutsuki's heart thumps. The song picks up pace, and he breaks away from Urie's grasp. "Like this."

"Having fun, nerds?" calls Shirazu, heading back over. "Saiko and I are gonna head back, so unless you want to get a—"

"No," Mutsuki interrupts. "We're ready to go." Thunder crashes again. Urie nods. Mutsuki tries not to look at the blue-haired girl, collecting their empty drinks.

"I'll get the car for you guys," says Shirazu. Urie's lips pucker so that he looks like he'd like to spit at Shirazu. But Shirazu's just being nice. Mutsuki sighs.

"It's really coming down," Saiko says, peering at the rain as they huddle in the vestibule. Mutsuki nods. "I always loved thunderstorms."

"I thought they were scary," Mutsuki whispers. But he learned early not to scream for comfort, or cry.

"I bet you were scared too, Urie," teases Saiko.

Lightning illuminates Urie's eyes. "Fuck off!"

"I bet you were!"

A crash echoes.

"What the hell was that?" croaks Mutsuki as Saiko gasps.

Urie flings the door open, running. Mutsuki hesitates, and then takes off after him, Saiko behind him. Rain pelts his face. Other patrons start to emerge outside.

A black van crashed into Shirazu's car. Shirazu slumps, crumpled between his car and the car in front of him.

Mutsuki opens his mouth, but he can't recognize his screams from Saiko's or from Urie's. He runs for his friend, sneakers sloshing in the wet grass and mud.

"Call an ambulance!" Urie shouts. Mutsuki yanks out his phone, dialing. He's trying to keep it together, keep his voice calm, stop shaking, stop panicking, stop stop stop—Shirazu isn't going to die, he's still conscious, his eyes are open, his head's lolling to the side, Saiko's reaching for him, Urie's yelling.

" _Don't you fucking die on me!"_

"Please," Mutsuki ekes out, pleading with this nameless operator, man or woman, he doesn't know, he can't even process the voice. Blood drips onto the pavement, crimson mingling with water.

An axe.

" _I didn't kill them!"_

**_Liar._ **

"Not now!" Mutsuki shouts, realizing he's shouted out loud. But not now. It can't be now. Shirazu's now. Shirazu's here, and he's going to _stay_ here, stay alive.

The blue-haired girl races towards them, swearing. Fueguchi Hinami cries. That girl who attacked Juuzou, the one who was expelled, she's here too.

The manager reaches for Mutsuki. Mutsuki shoves her away. "Don't touch me!"

"I was just—"

"Don't go," Mutsuki pleads even though thunder cracks and covers his voice. "Don't go." He's always just begged for them to come back. His parents. Except they never were real, they were always just dreams, and monsters under the dreams.

But he always dreamed they loved him.

Hot tears run down his cheeks, an affront to the cold rain. The operator tells him the ambulance is almost here and Mutsuki hears sirens. "Ginshi—"

The paramedics leap out, shouting orders, ordering everyone back.

"We'll be right here, Shirazu!" barks Urie. "We're waiting for you, okay?"

"Hold on, Shiragin," wails Saiko. Mutsuki grabs Saiko in a hug. _Please be real. Please don't fade away._

_Let this fade away, but you all—Saiko, Urie, Sasaki back at Washuu University—stay._

"You have to hang on for your sister!" Urie yells.

"H-Haru," Mutsuki says, gulping. "Haru, Haru, Shirazu, Shirazu Haru."

Lightning lights them up. Mutsuki could kick it.

"I'll drive you," calls the blue-haired manager as the ambulance takes off. She holds up her keys.

"Thanks," sniffles Saiko as they pile into the car of a girl named Kirishima Touka, or so she says. She drives them to the hospital, dropping them off. The next few hours, Mutsuki clings to Urie, to Saiko.

But when the doctor comes, their clothes still damp and clinging, he only has to look at them, and they know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. :(
> 
> Up next: Urie and the others try to carry on, Sasaki is cold, Akira and Takizawa have a fight, and Hairu tells Ui a secret.


	10. The Miserable Have No Other Medicine, but Only Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

Ui wakes to the sound of his phone ringing. His neck aches from sleeping on the couch. He checks the time. Three am. He blinks. _Why would Amon Koutarou be calling me at this time?_

"Ui?" Amon asks.

"Yes?" Ui answers. Everything's shrouded in darkness. Ui pushes the woven blanket off his lap. "Is everything okay?"

"No." Amon's voice cracks. "Ui, Arima just called me."

 _Oh shit._ He knows. Ui sits bolt upright, his heart pounding. The door cracks behind him. Hairu tiptoes out, still draped in his pajamas.

"Shirazu Ginshi was in your section, right?"

"Huh?" Ui's head spins.

"He was killed in a car accident."

Shock slams Ui in his gut. " _What?"_ Hairu heads over to him, eyes wide in fear. Amon explains that he doesn't have details, but will be in touch later. Ui hangs up and swallows.

"What happened?" Hairu croaks.

"You should be asleep," Ui manages, getting to his feet and holding his hand out to her. The glassy look in her eyes and her flushed cheeks tell him she still has her fever. And a full glass of water still sits on the nightstand. "Hairu! You have to drink more water!"

"I couldn't sleep," Hairu mumbles.

"Still." Ui's own voice breaks. _Shirazu's... dead. Gone._ "Hairu, did you know Shirazu Ginshi?"

When he tells her, she bursts into tears, sobbing. Ui doesn't know what to do. His very pretty student is wearing his pajamas and sobbing and sick with a fever and sitting on his bed. He eases himself next to her, putting his hand on her shoulder and awkwardly patting. And she sinks against him, her face buried in his chest, bawling, and he cries too. Shirazu's a good kid. He didn't deserve this. Her forehead feels warm even though his cotton undershirt. "Hairu, you have to drink," he manages, reaching for water.

She accepts, glugging the water down.

"And sleep," Ui adds. "To recover."

"I don't want to," Hairu protests, peering up into Ui's eyes. "He's dead."

Ui caves, pulling her close again. He runs his hand up and down her back and the entire time voice yell in his mind about how irresponsible he is. Her sobs quiet. Her gasps muffle. "Hairu?"

She makes no sound. Except breathing. Deep breathing.

 _She fell asleep?_ Ui hesitates, and then gingerly shifts Hairu down onto the bed. She stirs, and her hand reaches out, grasping at air. "Don't go. I don't want... to be alone."

Ui gulps. "You're feverish." Delusional.

 _We've already shared a bed before._ Nothing happened.

"Please," Hairu whispers.

 _Shit_. Ui cringes as he eases himself down next to her, rubbing her back again. At least she's sleeping with her face away from him "Okay. I'll stay."

In the meantime, all he can do is wait for dawn, alternatively filled with despair over Shirazu and self-loathing over the fact that he has a boner with his sick and heartbroken student sleeping fitfully next to him. _This is awkward. This is so awkward. What am I doing? I'm the worst._ His parents would be so ashamed of him. Hirako would be too.

Hairu's snores eventually drag Ui into a gray sleep of his own. When he wakes up, he finds an arm thrown across his chest. _Hairu?_

She's asleep. Light trickles through the window. Ui winces, easing his way out from under her arm.

If only he could have stayed there.

But she loves Arima. Not him.

* * *

The sun comes up, and Urie wants to shove its filthy stupid bright face back under the earth. It has no right to shine.

How can someone else be dead? Dear just because they were trying to help their friends out?

Urie curls his fists. He wants to scream, but he can't. Saiko's bawling, crumpled on the floor with her face pressed against the seat. Mutsuki just sits there, jaw open, shock trembling his chin.

Shirazu's too young to die. His roommate… Urie can't face the thought of returning to an empty room—that saxophone, the one Shirazu won't play again—fuck, fuck, this shouldn't be happening, he's too young to die. It isn't fair.

_I hate death._

And he has a sister. Urie gulps. He reaches out and grasps Saiko's shoulder. Her shoulders heave. Mutsuki doubles over.

Washuu Matsuri strides through the doors of the emergency room. He grasps Urie's arm. "I'm so sorry."

Urie looks up at him, eyes blurred and hating himself for it. "Why are you here?"

"You need someone to drive you back." Matsuri clears his throat, looking over Mutsuki, huddled on the chair with his face pressed between his knees, and Saiko sobbing. "As Shirazu's roommate, Urie, you would get all As this semester—"

Anger explodes, finding a perfect target in Matsuri. "I can't believe you're talking about something like this right now!" Urie glares at him. This disgusting man. He could spit on him.

"When would you like me to talk about it, Urie?" snaps Matsuri. He jangles his keys, gripping his chin. "Come on. Let's go."

Urie almost tells Matsuri where he can put those keys, but Mutsuki gets to his feet, reaching a hand out for Saiko. She takes it, and he helps them to the car.

The next few days pass in a blur. A funeral is not held, because there are no parents and therefore no money to care for it. The school has a memorial service, but it's cheap for such a deep wound. The band and guests from :re that night, including the manager, attend.

"Sasaki didn't come," Mutsuki says, bewildered, as everyone files out of the church. A statue stands at the altar, resurrected, but Shirazu, he's still dead.

Just like his father.

Urie grits his teeth. None of the three of them have been back at class yet. Sasaki emailed, but he hasn't come to pay his respects. Akira cooked curry for them. Amon and Takizawa both wrote them all lengthy emails about how sorry they was, and came to the memorial today, heads bowed. Ui's been sending them their homework, but telling them they should take their time with it. Hairu came and cried with Saiko. Hsiao, Aura, and Higemaru haven't left their sides.

"Yes, he did," says Aura dispassionately.

"Huh?" Mutsuki blinks. Aura points. Urie whirls to see Sasaki slipping out from the back pew.

 _Oh, hell no_. Urie's shoulders tighten. He's been staying in Mutsuki's room, unable to return to Shirazu's room, to wake up to his empty bed, fall asleep without the sound of him snoring, study without Shirazu playing music and irritating the shit out of him. And Mutsuki's been crying constantly, and checking email for a word for Sasaki.

Urie marches over to their TA. His hair's now completely black. "Hair appointment more important than your students?"

"Huh?" Sasaki turns around, gaping at him. "Urie. I'm so—"

"Don't tell me you're sorry! Show me!" Urie curses. "If you care about any of your students, maybe have some level of decency. Even Arima sent us flowers, and you—not a single word?" He throws his hands out.

Sasaki narrows his eyes. "You're not the only person who's suffering here, Urie."

Are _you fucking kidding me?_ "I am the only person who just lost his roommate!"

"Whom, if I recall, you didn't even like." Sasaki's eyes travel past Urie, landing on that girl, the manager. Kirishima. He pales. "Goodbye." He turns on his heel and stalks away. Kirishima's face falls.

"Fuck you!" Urie hisses. He wants to shout it, scream it loudly enough so that it echoes in the rafters of this church, but of course he can't.

Mutsuki huddles in his room later, crying. "I thought he was my friend."

Urie scowls. "He doesn't deserve to have you as a friend. Any of us."

"I can't hate him," Mutsuki manages. "He was the first—person nice to me this semester. Everyone else—last semester—treated me like I was a disease."

Urie frowns. "Why?"

Mutsuki shakes his head. "Some rumors. Lies. But they—" He sits up, wiping at his eyes.

"Don't even think about that bastard," Urie says. "He's too focused on himself to think of anyone else."

And then he turns around, before he can see Mutsuki's reaction. Judging from the hiccups, it wasn't comforting. Oops. He makes his way back to his room. He needs to grab more clothes. He focuses his eyes on his closet, refusing to look at Shirazu's desk.

" _You're the RA now," Washuu Yoshitoki told him._

Urie doesn't want to be. He wants Shirazu back. His eyes turn to Shirazu's side. Shit, his bed is still rumpled. There's a dent in the pillow. An apple core rots on the desk, and Urie can't bring himself to throw it away.

A white envelope sits on the desk. Urie peers at it. _Shit_. His fingers snatch the envelope and he marches back to Mutsuki's room. Saiko's there now, holding Mucchan and whimpering.

Urie throws the bill at them. Mutsuki flinches, but catches it. "It's—"

"Haru's medical bills," Urie says, voice rough. "They're due shortly. I—I know the two of you don't have jobs and probably not much, but—"

"I have some saved," Mutsuki says quietly. "From a summer job."

Saiko sniffles. "Me too."

Urie wonders how Saiko managed to work. Whatever. He's not going to question it. It's the least they can do.

"I love him," Saiko says, rubbing her eyes. "I don't—why is he gone?"

"Life's not fair," whispers Mutsuki. "I miss him."

"We'll make sure he isn't forgotten," Urie declares. He drops onto the bed next to Mutsuki. "I promise you. Both of you."

Mutsuki looks at him. He nods.

* * *

"I can't believe it," Akira says, staring at the beer in her hand. It has no taste, only fizz that stings the back of her throat. She gulps more. "Again? What is this place, a black hole of tragedy?"

"It's cursed," says Amon, reaching out to pat Maris Stella, who just leaped onto the couch next to him. The cat hisses. Amon withdraws his hand.

"It's not about us," Takizawa says.

"I know." Akira sighs. They didn't even have Shirazu in their section. But she's tired of death. It's always the same. That bleak cloud that hangs over campus. And it was so senseless—a driver lost control. They aren't even going to charge him. "Takizawa?"

"Mado?" He looks up at her. He's crouched against the wall, turning his almost-empty beer bottle around and around in his hand.

"Is that why you left? Because of the explosion?" Akira swallows. She doesn't know why she's still going on about this. But she wants an answer. She wants to know she isn't someone who deserves to be abandoned. She wants to be someone who doesn't have to earn people wanting to stay around her.

"It contributed," Takizawa says. He exhales. "But no. There were other factors too. I'll tell you about them someday, Mado, I will."

But not now. Akira sighs.

"It makes me think of Mado," Amon says, staring at the carpet. Maris Stella hops up on the back of the couch behind him. She hisses again and slaps him with her tail. Amon flinches. "I mean, Kureo. Your father. His death."

Akira's stomach burns. She pushes the beer away and leans back against the couch. "Yeah."

"He was such a mentor for me," Amon continues. "After Donato…"

"That priest guy?" Takizawa asks. "Sorry. You never mention him, but Mado said a few things." He nods at Akira. Her face burns.

"He was a—bad man," Amon says carefully. "He made me help him. Hurt children." Amon hangs his head.

"You were a child yourself," Akira snaps. "It's not your fault."

"If it makes you feel better, my parents are dead because of me," Takizawa interrupts.

"How would that make me feel better?" Amon's jaw hangs open.

Akira can't breathe. She had no idea. They went to high school together. She remembers Takizawa's mother, always fawning over him and embarrassing him. And she liked Akira, always congratulating her on her performances and academic achievements. "How did I not hear about this?"

Takizawa shrugs. "I took a gap year, right? Then I went off to school elsewhere."

"But what happened?" Akira presses.

"I'm a monster," Takizawa says, and he lets out a barking laugh. The laughs can't erase the way he spoke, though, like the words were engraved in stone. He finishes the beer and leans his head back against the wall, white hair streaming around him. His face almost looks gray. "It was an accident. They were coming to see me at—my new school—because I'd been so fucking depressed—and they skidded on some ice."

"That's not _your_ fault," Akira snaps.

Takizawa looks at her, eyes smoldering. "Yes. It is."

"No, it isn't."

"Shut up!"

"Why do you always have to believe the worst of yourself?" Akira yells.

Takizawa glares at her, mouth agape. He shakes his head.

"I don't blame you, and that's that, you're not going to convince me to blame you," Akira snarls. She crosses her arms and flops back. _Fuck this._ Her eyes burn. Tears slip out from them, dribbling hot down her cheeks.

"Akira?" ventures Amon.

"I miss my father," Akira chokes out. "I wonder—what he would think—of me, of you—" _I miss you. I miss both of you. I was safe then._

"He'd be proud of you," Takizawa says.

Akira remembers Fueguchi Hinami. The girl came to Shirazu's memorial service with that grunge emo guy holding her hand. Why would she come? She was there, maybe, but why would she come? And there's a niggling thought eating at her mind: _do I want him to be proud of me?_

She does. She always has.

"I'm sorry, Seidou," Akira says, turning her head to look at him. "You—don't deserve to feel that way."

" _Deserves_ doesn't matter," says Takizawa, shrugging. "I do feel that way."

"I blame myself too," Amon says. "For not—helping the other kids—with Donato."

"You were a kid yourself," Akira snaps. Why are these boys both like this?

"I know," Amon says. "He's a monster. If it weren't for him—" Maris Stella whacks at him with her paw this time. Akira snatches the cat, who wails.

Takizawa cackles. "If it weren't for _me."_

 _If it weren't for_ —Akira stops. She doesn't know what to say. Kirishima? Fueguchi? Dad himself?

"I've had enough death," Amon says.

"You and me both." Akira drinks more, knowing it will sting her stomach. She can't care.

"It's not all tragedy though," Takizawa says. "You two have each other. I saw it, like, way back. In how you two looked at each other. And you're honoring Kureo's memory. You know he'd be the number one shipper."

"He'd drag out a machete," Akira retorts. Her face heats up. Amon smiles sheepishly.

"Ew," says Takizawa.

"What about Seina?" asks Akira. "Is she—"

"She's in school," Takizawa says. "She doesn't talk to me much, since they died." Shadows hide his face. He drags himself to his feet. "I'll see you guys later. I should get back to my place—I've got some grading to get through. And I need to practice for the upcoming concert." He tosses Akira a smile. All the graduate students and postdocs, plus professors including Arima, are required to perform in the memorial concert.

"Okay," Akira says. "Thanks for coming by."

The door closes behind him with a click. Akira turns to Amon. "Did you know?"

Amon nods.

"I wish he'd told me," Akira says.

Amon wraps his arms around her, and she presses herself into his body. He dwarfs her, and she feels safe there.

_Dad, would you really be happy?_

He can't answer. He's dead.

Gray clouds bulge outside, and Akira wishes she could go to that bench again, even if she knows she'll feel worse for it.

* * *

Hairu recovers from her flu quickly, but Shirazu's death certainly doesn't help matters. She's gone long hours again, practicing the violin. Blisters reappear on her hands, and Ui can't help but want to tell her to stop, to just stop, that it won't help her, that Arima will never notice unless she's dead and if she's dead that would hurt the world, but he can't bring himself to. Because it's wrong. He's her TA. Even if they're both adults, there's a power dynamic.

He could kick himself.

He's leaving the music building late at night the evening of Shirazu's memorial service when he catches her waiting outside for him, shivering. "Hairu?"

"Koori," she says, and he sees that her eyes are reddened, her nose swollen.

 _Fuck_. He wants to take her in his arms, but he can't. Nothing happened when she was staying in his place, he wouldn't have stooped that low, but he still knew it was probably an ethical violation. "Is it Shirazu?"

She shakes her head. "I didn't even know him that well. It's Kanou."

"What did he do?" Ui demands. Is it ethical to punch a professor?

"Can we go back to your apartment and talk?" Hairu asks, hopping up and down.

Ui hesitates. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Oh." Her shoulders slump.

"We could go out," Ui suggests. "For coffee. And melon buns."

Hairu cocks her head. "To :re?"

Ui gulps. "That place is—"

"I want to see where it happened," Hairu declares.

Ui says nothing. He reaches for his keys, head hanging as he heads to his car. She follows.

"Tomorrow they start tutoring, right?" Hairu asks as he begins to drive. It's foggy tonight, thick clouds rolling low over the earth, covering the roads and fences with sticky cobwebs of air.

"Yeah," Ui says.

"I hope they see Shio," says Hairu.

He hesitates. "Hairu, why didn't you volunteer?"

Hairu leans her head against the window, peering outside. "I didn't think Tsuneyoshi would like it. He thinks I'm dumb. And not a good influence on the kids. But I got a scholarship because they didn't know what else to do with me." She inhales.

Ui clutches the steering wheel. Is she saying what he thinks she's saying? "But you're talented. You're smart—I'm sure you earned it—"

"I didn't have to earn it," Hairu interrupts. "You've seen Rize, right? You think she earned it?" She doubles over. "Shio's his son."

"What?" Ui slams on the brakes. Hairu shrieks. "Sorry."

"Shio's my half brother," Hairu repeats. "He's Tsuneyoshi's son. Just like Arima, and Furuta, and Yusa—Arima's full brother—and Souzu Rikai, who's his daughter. Rize and I are stepkids; Shio and I have the same mom, and Yusa, Arima, and Rize do too Furuta and Rikai have different mothers. Except they were never married, so not really."

Ui struggles to breathe. Air seems to stick to his lungs. _Is this for real?_ Why didn't Furuta just tell him? He could—this is really, really bad—unethical as all— _you womanizing piece of—_

"Don't be angry," Hairu requests, voice trembling. "It's just—the way it is."

 _You're in love with someone who might as well be your stepbrother?_ But not really, if they didn't grow up together. Ui gulps.

"You won't tell, will you?" Hairu cries out, turning to him.

 _Furuta, why didn't you say?_ This is kind of important information. Ui grits his teeth. "Hairu—"

"I don't want to—"

"I won't," Ui insists. He drives slower, squinting at the road. A lump grows in his throat. No wonder Hairu feels alone.

Has she ever felt wanted?

The thought that the answer might be _no_ sickens Ui. He arrives at :re and locks the car, heading in with Hairu on his heels. Kirishima Touka takes their orders with a smile.

"So… what happened with Kanou?" Ui asks when they take seats on stools at the bar pressed up against the front window.

Hairu scowls, biting into her melon bun. "He wants me to spy on Sasaki."

"The fuck?" Ui blurts out before thinking. He almost chokes on his melon bun.

"Well, not spy exactly." Hairu looks out at the fog rolling around then, squinting. He knows she's trying to imagine it, where it happened, what happened. "Just—he keeps asking me strange questions since he knows Sasaki's my TA. It feels like he's trying to get me to spy on him without telling me what's going on."

"You should report _him_ ," Ui says automatically. Words fly into his mind, crafting the email to Yoshitoki.

"He hasn't done anything technically wrong," Hairu pointed out, stuffing more melon bun into her mouth and sighing in contentment. "Thanks, Koori. This is what I needed."

 _I don't think it's what you needed. I don't even think I can give you what you need, because I'm not Arima._ Ui wishes coffee could burn a hole in his despair as well as in his stomach.

They don't stay terrible late. It's quiet, mostly, but Ui doesn't mind. When they leave, Ui almost stumbles into a crying, running figure.

"Are you okay?" Hairu exclaims as the person tumbles to the ground.

Karren von Rosewald glares up at them, eyes streaming. She recognizes Ui, face paling. She nods.

"You don't look it," Hairu says with a frown. "Maybe we should—"

"She's just upset I told her the truth," croons a voice. Ui stiffens. He turns to see that weird English teacher there. Eto's cut her hair off into a green bob. "That she shouldn't waste her time loving someone who doesn't love her back. She's under no obligation." Eto's eyes narrow at Ui, and Hairu, and Ui's chest clenches.

"You don't get a choice in whom you love," Hairu says, voice shaking.

"What chick flick told you that, Ihei?" asks Eto. "You always have a choice. Just people seldom make the right ones."

"Fuck you," spits Karren. "You know nothing about my life—"

"I know you're treated like a servant by your own uncle and love your own cousin because no one else has been remotely kind to a pathetic creature like you," says Eto. "It's like a Shakespearean play. Will it be a tragedy or comedy? The choice is yours, dear one."

"Leave her alone," Ui snaps. Karren flinches.

Hairu looks as if she wants to vomit. Ui grabs her arm. "Let's go."

"Have a good night," Eto trills, flitting into the coffee shop.

"Bitch," Hairu mumbles, slamming his car door shut. Ui cringes. _Do you have to take it out on an innocent car?_

"Ui?" she asks. "Have you ever been in love?"

 _You love him, don't you?_ Ui wants to cry. He thinks of the way Karren's lips parted, her nostrils flared, her eyes swelled with tears. "I don't know."

 _Liar_.

_Why? Why do I love you?_

Because she smiles, she laughs, she makes him laugh, she's hardworking and cute and fun and talented and she convinces him to take life easier than he would otherwise.

_I hate myself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: a funeral, a party, and a breakdown.


	11. Unpathed Waters, Undreamed Shores

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I want to issue a strong warning for sexual assault at the end of the chapter. It is not graphically described, but it could still be triggering. If you might be triggered, please feel free to stop reading after Furuta, Rize, and Sasaki leave the party together.

"Hey!"

Urie blinks. _Fuck. It's you_. Takeomi is the last person he wants to talk to now. But the oaf lumbers over to them, slinging his arm across the back of Urie's seat as they wait for Arima to start class. Mutsuki and Saiko huddle together, Hsiao, Higemaru, and Aura nearby, but Shirazu's chair—it's still empty, and Urie wants to scream every time he looks at it.

"Rehearsals for the memorial concert start next week," says Takeomi. "I was thinking—I mean—we should dedicate one of the songs to Shirazu. I know it's in memorial of those killed in the explosion, but it seems wrong to just ignore such a recent tragedy. If you'd want to say a few words—"

"I can't think about this now," Urie cuts him off. His heart pounds. What, is Kuroiwa going to memorialize every single tragedy they've ever been through?

"Urie," Saiko says quietly. "I'll—say something." She looks up at Takeomi, eyes watering.

He nods. Hsiao puts her hand on Saiko's shoulder.

Urie presses his lips together. Sasaki hurries in, and Mutsuki hesitates, and then leaps to his feet. "Sasaki?"

He turns around, looking at them like they're just random students. Which Urie is and maybe even Saiko, but for Christ's sake, he took Mutsuki out for coffee. Urie even sees Suzuya watching Sasaki with a furrowed brow.

"Itou's having another party tonight," Takeomi says. "You all should come. Even you, Mr. TA." He smiles at Sasaki.

Sasaki shakes his head.

"But you should," Mutsuki says quickly. "It was fun last time." He looks at Saiko. "Remember?"

 _It was fun for you because Shirazu was there._ And Urie, he fought Shirazu then. He bites his lip so hard he almost tears the flesh off. He cringes in pain.

"I hope you have fun," Sasaki says, moving towards the front.

"Sasaki," pleads Mutsuki. He twists his sweater.

Urie scowls. Sasaki's treating them all like shit. Because he thinks he's better than them, clearly.

"I heard Furuta telling Kamishiro Rize not to go, but of course she will," Hsiao chimes in, rolling her eyes. "She's not one to pass up alcohol."

"I don't like to drink, but I like dancing," Higemaru says, clasping his hands together.

Aura grunts. Mutsuki smiles at them.

"That girl's out of control," says Urie. Saiko commented that she found Rize half asleep in the bathroom at the student center the other day, covered in vomit. "Does she ever go to class?"

"Don't be rude about someone you don't even know," snaps Sasaki. He turns to Mutsuki. "I'll meet you at the party."

Mutsuki's eyes widened. "Really?" The happiness breaking through his voice—something cracks in Urie.

Sasaki nods. Arima finally arrives, striding towards the front of the room. Sasaki heads after him, and Urie realizes he's gripping his laptop so tightly his knuckles strain.

Mutsuki and Saiko's efforts to convince him to come fall on deaf ears. He's not interested.

"But it's a chance to spend time with Sasaki," Mutsuki insists as he flops on the couch in the Chateau's lobby.

"And why would I want to do that?" Urie snaps. Dammit, he doesn't mean to lose it with Mutsuki. But—what that bastard said to him after Shirazu—

"He's been kind to us," Mutsuki whispers. Clouds cloak to sun outside, wrapping the sky with the gauzy indigo of coming night. Golden threads dribble through.

Urie snorts. "He's been kind to _you_. Is that really a good enough reason to turn into a Sasaki fanboy?"

"I like him," Mutsuki interrupts. "I mean, I _like_ like him."

 _What?_ Urie's shoulders stiffen. He couldn't—he can't—of course, of _course_ , of bloody course—air feels acrid in his windpipe. _It's not enough, is it? I'm never enough. "_ He's—our TA," Urie forces out.

Mutsuki laughs. A beautiful sound, sweet. Urie's chest heaves. "I don't care."

_Mutsuki, I'd never tell you it was your fault, or imply you should have done better with Shirazu when you were hurting._

_Mutsuki, I'd never freeze you out. Mutsuki, I'd never hurt you._

Except he already did. Urie remembers shoving him in the bathroom that day. He grits his teeth. "Hope you have fun." It comes out harsher than he intended, but who the hell cares.

Urie stomps up to his room, slamming the door behind him and locking it. There's no way he's letting Saiko or Higemaru drag him to that fucking party now where he would have to watch Takeomi whirl around with his pretty bland blah girlfriend and he drinks all alone. And even if Mutsuki danced with him… it wouldn't be enough.

 _I'm not enough_. He looks at Shirazu's empty side of the room, blankets still askew, and for the first time since his father died, Urie wishes he could cry.

But he won't. He'll study. He'll grab his violin and go practice for that concert tonight.

He's got nothing else.

* * *

"Going to the party tonight, Ui?" Takizawa snickers as he passes him in the hallway in the music building, which might as well be their home now for the amount of time they spend in it. "I can't wait to see what new move you break out this time."

Ui's face burns. At least he looks professional. Takizawa still looks like a bum dragged off the street rather than a grad student.

He doesn't deserve the dignity of a response. Ui turns away from him and marches outside. Maybe Hairu's going to that party. She said she wasn't much of a partier, but—

"Koori?"

 _Goddammit!_ He jumps. But he doesn't turn around, focusing on the pine trees swaying instead. "If you're going to ask me to attend another undergrad party, the answer is no."

"I wasn't." Her voice catches.

 _Fuck_. Ui can't stand hearing her sad. He spins around to see her clasping her hands together around the handle of her violin case. "I want to practice, but the building's closed."

"Take a break. You need one."

Hairu frowns. "You don't ever take breaks."

Ui opens his mouth, and then shuts it.

 _You're Tsuneyoshi's stepdaughter_. Sort of.

"I want to prove I'm good enough to be here," Hairu says, evidently thinking of the same thing.

"Your grades are fine. You aren't even here for music." Ui turns to stalk off. An owl hoots. The damp air slimes his skin, chilling his fingers.

She hurries after him, not getting the point. He really shouldn't be surprised. "I wanted to be."

"Did you?" Ui forces himself to ask. "Or did you just want to be because you thought it might get you closer to Arima?"

Hairu blinks. "Of course."

"That's creepy. Stalker-esque."

Hairu's jaw dropped. "It's not like that!" She jumps in front of him, moonwalking backwards and glaring at him. Her glare sets his stomach aflame even more than her smile.

Ui wants to dump his head in a bucket of ice. "Have you ever considered doing what you want to do? Not biology because your stepfather of sorts told you to or music because your—hero—likes it? What do you want to do, Hairu?"

Hairu stops. He almost crashes into her. Wind whips through her hair. Her shoulders slump. "I… I don't know."

"You don't know?" Ui's voice drops incredulity.

"We didn't really have much of a choice… growing up. My mother was—she was sick, and not around much, and we were—Tsuneyoshi supported us, so. We had to make him happy." She looks up at Ui, green eyes shadowed by night. "Please don't hate him."

 _I hate him_ , Ui decides. Tsuneyoshi—always one of his heroes. He heard the man play in a concert when he was a kid, the concert that spurred his parents to give him lessons. The revelation burns inside him, stinging his esophagus. "That's an unfair burden to put on a child's shoulders."

Hairu studies him. "How about you? Is music what you wanted to do?"

"Yes," says Ui. _I think_. "My parents paid for lessons—they just wanted to have something about me that they could praise. That's all they cared about. And I—want to do my best, no matter what I'm doing. That's right. They're disappointed I want to use it in therapy, though, rather than becoming a professor like Arima."

"I don't think that's disappointing," Hairu says. "I think that proves you're a good person."

Ui can't breathe. He drops his gaze.

"Can I ask you something?" asks Hairu.

"Is it where Arima keeps his spare keys? Because I assure you I don't know," Ui jokes.

Hairu swats his shoulder. She continues down the path. Ui follows. "I brought my pajamas. Can I stay over your place? I can sleep on the couch this time. I don't mean anything awkward; I know it's not like that. I just—everyone's going to be coming back drunk and I don't want to deal with that. Dealing with drunk you was enough."

"Ooh, so you're insulting me?" Ui asks even as his throat tightens. _Shit_. "Not a great way to ask me for a favor."

"I bought melon buns."

"You like them, not me."

"I ate a nutritional dinner tonight, don't I deserve an award?"

At that, Ui snorts. He turns to shake his head at her. "Fine." But he'll take the couch.

He makes tea for her once they're in his place, warm and spiced to comfort them this cold night. Hairu sits cross-legged. In her pajamas. Which are white and skimpy and really—not—Ui grabs a throw pillow and holds it against himself. _I am not a good man._

"Koori?" Hairu says, sipping the tea. He put sugar and milk in hers. "Mm. Good. But—why—" She swallows. "I wanted to practice more this week because—Arima used to write me these long, thorough comments on my work, and the past few weeks—since Shirazu died—he hasn't written more than a few shallow 'nice jobs.' At first I thought he was just mourning like we all were, but—"

 _Oh no!_ Ui chokes on his tea. The hot liquid spills down his chin and into his cup. He wipes at his face.

"Are you okay?"

He nods, blinking. The lights are dim. "Hairu—I was grading your papers."

"Huh?" Hairu's eyes widen into emerald orbs.

"I wrote those comments," Ui rushes to say. "Professors—it's standard procedure to have TAs grade assignments. I was grading yours, but once you stayed here—when you were sick—I figured we were more friends, and there could be a conflict of interest, so I told Hirako to take over grading yours. Not because I don't want to read what you've written—I miss it actually; you are talented, incredibly so, really—but because I didn't want it to look wrong."

Hairu cocks her head to the side, studying him. She looks crushed.

"I'm sorry it wasn't Arima," Ui says. "I—I should have mentioned—"

A snort emerges. "Well," Hairu says, forcing a smile. "At least I haven't, like, suddenly gone downhill." Her chin scrapes her chest though. Because of course she's disappointed. He's not Arima. Arima wasn't noticing her after all.

He should have told her, but he wanted her happy. And he wanted to talk to her.

The tea tastes bitter.

* * *

Saiko gulps a cosmo, arm slung over Hsiao. Higemaru's off—wherever. And Sasaki has barely glanced at Mutsuki since they arrived. He gave Mutsuki a quick side hug and since then his eyes haven't stopped searching the room, and for what Mutsuki doesn't know. He checks his phone to see if Urie's texted him. Nothing.

"Do you want to dance?" Mutsuki asks. He holds out his hand to Sasaki, smiling.

Sasaki opens his mouth, and then his eyes catch on something over Mutsuki's shoulder. Mutsuki turns to see a girl with long purple hair, Kamishiro Rize, stumbling around. Furuta Nimura scowls from across the room. Sasaki moves towards her.

Rize's eyes are glassy, and she sways, but not in time with the music. She reaches for another beer and throws herself over the lap of another boy, a man with a goatee, who gently pushes her away.

"Rize," Sasaki says, and Mutsuki realizes he's followed him.

Rize staggers backwards, dragging her hand through her messy hair. "Heh? Who're you?"

"I'm—" Sasaki's eyes find Mutsuki, and then he looks away. "We used to date, Rize. Years ago. You were—"

Rize lets out a chuckle. "I've dated a lot of men." Her head lolls to the side. The strap of her dress droops off her shoulder.

Mutsuki swallows. Sasaki dated—her?

"We went out once," Sasaki said.

_Huh?_

"Damn stalker, huh?" Rize lifts her beer and takes a swig. She lets out a belch, right in Sasaki's face. "Who's this? Your l'il protégé?"

"Student," Sasaki says, barely glancing at Mutsuki. "Rize, let me help you home." He reaches for her arm. Rize wrenches away. She falls backwards. Rize swears as her head slams into the back of a counter. "Rize!"

Mutsuki reaches out to help the girl. Rize slaps him away. Mutsuki jumps back, cursing. Everyone laughs around them, drowning out the sounds. No one's paying attention to the girl in the purple dress crumpled on the floor.

"Rize," says Furuta from above Mutsuki. "Let me take you back to your dorm."

"N-no," Rize slurs. "I don't—wanna go." She hobbles to her feet. "Bye." She takes a step and almost falls. Sasaki grabs her waist. Furuta looks at Sasaki like he'd like to murder him.

"Are you dating?" Mutsuki asks hopefully, and then almost kicks himself. He really is grotesque. Caring only about whether this girl isn't a rival. Rize needs help.

Rize flops back against Kaneki. She moans.

"Let me help," says a voice above them, a scratchy voice that drags itself into Mutsuki's memories. His neck cranes to look upward. Saeki.

"S-security," stammers Mutsuki.

"I'm just checking on you kids," says Saeki, crouching down. He holds a small flashlight out. "Hit your head, did you, Rize?"

"Fuck off," mumbles Rize.

"Well, her pupils look all right," Saeki says, leaning back on his heels. "But she should probably get home."

"I said _fuck you,_ loser!" Rize shoves Saeki's chest. Furuta lunges and grabs her wrists. She flails.

The pulsating music halts. People stare. Itou looks as if he's going to melt into the wall at the sight of the security guard.

"Get her out of here, and I don't write you up," Saeki says, holding his hands up. His hollow cheeks sink even deeper as his lips curve into a smile.

Sasaki swallows. Mutsuki looks over his shoulders and can't find Saiko in the crush of people. Itou turns the music back on.

"We'll get her home," Sasaki interrupts. He looks at Furuta, who scowls but nods.

 _What about me?_ Mutsuki wrings his button-down shirt.

"See you, Tooru," Sasaki says, nodding at him as he ushers Rize out, Furuta on his heels. Rize mumbles in protest, but goes with them.

"I once had a friend who died after alcohol poisoning," Saeki remarks. "Back when I was in high school. At a party I held. I said never again. I hang out around these parties for that reason. That, and what happened to Yasuhisa Nashiro."

Mutsuki huddles in on himself. Sweat drips down his spine and bodies writhe around him, and he's tired and people are so close but he feels so alone, locked inside his skull.

Saeki passes Mutsuki a beer. "You should have a drink. You look tense."

 _You're creeping me out_. Mutsuki grabs the beer and gulps the bitter liquid. He clenches his hand around the cup. _Sasaki, why? Why am I not enough?_ "You're a terrible security guard," he rasps. Saeki shouldn't be encouraging them to drink, even if Mutsuki is of age now.

But still Mutsuki drinks. He sees Saiko then, laughing with Hsiao, and Mutsuki smiles, because he hasn't seen Saiko smile like that, laugh like that, since Shirazu, and then he doesn't see her anymore.

There's no point in him staying here. Mutsuki's eyes sting.

" _You're worthless."_ He feels his father's hot breath on his neck, feels his hair twisting. _"You give me the respect I deserve! Tell me I'm the best!"_

Mutsuki never even dared hope to be the best. He just hoped to be liked. But now that he's met Sasaki—he wants to be loved.

Saiko's blue pigtails reappear and vanish. The faces and blond hair and brown and indigo and black all blur together. Mutsuki stumbles. Someone catches his arm.

He thinks of Rize. For all the girl's screwed-up-ness, she's better off than he is. She hasn't murdered her whole family. Mutsuki lets out a laugh. He feels like he swallows the laugh.

" _Tell me I'm the best!"_

He felt the hands knuckles against his skull, dragging him down the hallway. His mother turned away, and he wanted to scream _look at me, look at me, I exist, please help me, Mommy!_

Up stairs—no, there were no stairs in his house—a wooden floor—no, a bathroom, cold tiles against his back, again, again, again.

_Look at me, I'm here!_

_Don't see me, I'm grotesque!_

Mutsuki's skull throbs. A gray haze starts to fade. His stomach churns, nausea bubbling and clawing at his insides. He rolls over, reaching for his alarm clock. Sunlight pricks his eyes.

_When did I leave the party?_

His hands grasp air. His shoulder scrapes something hard. A splinter stabs his hand. Mutsuki gasps. He lurches up, staring around him. Gardening tools rest around, hoes and shovels and dirt. He's in some kind of shed, and his clothes are torn, and it's cold.

Mutsuki screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry :(


	12. Merely Players

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Trigger warning: this chapter will deal with the aftermath of what happened last chapter.

Arima dismisses them at eleven in the morning, as he always does on Saturdays. Amon goes to practice, so Akira asks Takizawa to get lunch with her. He agrees, and they wander across campus, towards that bench with her father's name engraved on a small metal plaque, munching sandwiches.

"You still miss him," Takizawa comments. Clouds roll overhead.

Akira nods. "It was weird seeing Kirishima awhile ago. How is—Kurona doing?"

"Fine." Takizawa sits down on the bench and gestures for her to sit next to him. She plops down, the sandwich suddenly bland and gloppy in her mouth. "Working at :re."

"With Kirishima." The air feels damp, chilled.

"You hate her still?"

"No."

"You don't have to lie; that's not going to get you anywhere."

"I  _don't_  hate her," Akira cuts in. "I just—don't know—what to feel about her." She leans back, wind blowing across her face. "I don't know what to feel if I don't hate her. If I don't hate her, I feel like I'm betraying my father. And I—don't hate her."  _I'm sorry, Daddy._

"Have you talked to Amon about it?"

Akira nods. She looks out at the lake, the breeze blowing ripples across the gray water. "He says he'll help me. Face that emptiness."

Takizawa nods. "Good."

A dying leaf breaks away from a knobby tree branch, drifting towards the grass that crumples in on itself, as if shielding itself from the approaching cold. "I just—you came back. Amon came back. He can't."

"Sorry we're making things worse for you." Takizawa's voice sounds clipped.

"You're not." Akira hunches over. "Why did you go?"

"Me? Or his ghost?"

"You."

Takizawa sighs. He bites into his sandwich and faces the bond, watching a flock of birds soar overhead. He chews angrily. Akira waits.  _Please don't shut me down._

"I wasn't doing well," Takizawa answers carefully. "I was—anxious. And stressed. And okay, whatever, I was pretty fucking depressed too."

Akira rests her chin on her palm, leaning over to look at him. "I'm sorry. I should have—I should have noticed." She swallows. A duck splashes in the water. "I wish I had. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. What could you have even done?" Takizawa rolls his eyes. He leans back, running his hands through his hair. "Besides, you were still grieving for your father. Trust me. As I now know, getting over your parents' deaths isn't like, waking up one day and seeing the sun shining and singing about tomorrow."

Akira can't laugh. Her eyes sting. "No. It's not. But I still—I don't want to—focus so much on that that I missed—" Her voice cracks.  _Am I still doing that? What am I missing now?_

Takizawa shrugs. A bird calls, a warble hanging empty in the air.

"There was a last straw," Takizawa says finally. "And it had nothing to do with you."

Akira takes another bite of her sandwich. "What happened?"

Takizawa lets out a cackle. "You'll probably get a kick out of this. I felt like I was spiraling and no one gave a fuck."

_I didn't give a fuck. I didn't even notice._

Wind picks up Takizawa's hair as he rests his elbows on his knees. His sandwich wrapper sits empty. "So I wrote on my term paper in Houji's class, right on that pretentious cover page he insisted we all have, 'I WANT TO DIE.' All in caps. In my handwriting. He was my advisor. I thought he would at least contact me, or my parents, or the counseling center. My grade just showed up in the system same as ever."

The sandwich catches in her throat. Akira chokes it down. "Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Want to die?"

Takizawa arches an eyebrow. "I just wanted it all to end. Cowardly, right?"

"No," Akira says. Her father would say so. He only had scorn for suicidal people, and students who couldn't handle the workload. She heard him railing against it multiple times. "You asked for help. That's brave."

"Passive-aggressively."

"Still." Akira presses her fists against her eyes. "I didn't give a fuck. I'm sorry."

"You give a fuck now." He ruffles her hair.

One time he did that to her when they were fifteen, right after a concert when she was supposed to meet with professors from this school. She swore at him then. This time she laughs, and nods.  _It's not too late_.

"Amon convinced me to come back," Takizawa says, watching the duck waddle ashore. The bench's wood feels cold, digging into Akira's back. "He went and found me when I was graduating. Told me if I wanted to do a master's he would be doing a postdoc here, and he would be there for me like he wasn't earlier."

Akira presses her lips together. "I'm glad."

"Me too." Takizawa tugs at a loose thread of his ripped jeans. "Keep your eye out for students who are drowning, okay? They're usually not the ones making a fuss either."

Akira nods.

"I told Amon to watch out for Yasuhisa," Takizawa says. "He already was though, of course." He curses. "But this school is run by a bunch of shitbags, so they of course didn't give two fucks about her trauma. She's inconvenient to them because of what happened to Nashiro."

"It wasn't their fault," Akira says.

"No," says Takizawa. "But they could have kept better control over alcohol and stuff like that. That's the way the press could handle it, anyways." He snorts. "Like this whole memorial concert? You know that the only reason Tsuneyoshi is having it is because the board's renewing his contract at the end of the year and he has to keep opinions up."

"What?" Akira shakes her head. "I'm sure there's more to it than that." Clouds continue to roll in, thick and gray.

Takizawa cocks his head. A smile spreads across his face. "You're too idealistic, Mado."

"Mado was my father," Akira says. "Call me Akira. We've known each other long enough, Seidou."

He lets out another laugh. "Okay then. Akira."

A scream echoes through the trees. Akira leaps up. It's muffled, but it's definitely there.

Seidou jumps up too. His eyes meet Akira's. "Did you—"

She nods. Another scream sounds, and Akira rushes away from the bench. "It's coming from this direction!" She points, heading into the woods. Dried leaves and clods of dirt crumple under her feet. A branch almost whacks her in the face. Judging by Takizawa's groan, it did scratch him.

The scream silences. Only chirps from birds and croaks from frogs echo. Akira stops, turning around. "Hello?" she calls.

"I don't hear anything anymore," Seidou says. "We can call security—we probably should."

Akira swallows. Goosebumps rush down her forearms. She rubs them, nodding, and heads off after him.

Another scream.

"Shit!" Seidou whirls.

"It's coming from out of the woods," Akira says. She pushes past him, hurrying out of the trees and towards the custodian shed, a ramshackle building with piles of bags of soil stacked outside it and wheelbarrows rolled up against it. A crunch echoes from inside it. "Someone—are they trapped inside?"

Seidou grabs the door handle, yanking. "It's locked!"

A scream echoes again.

"We're going to get you out of there!" Akira yells, hoping it calms whoever it is down.  _How long have they been there?_  She yanks out her phone, dialing. "I'm calling security!"

"How the fuck did some idiot wind up in the shed?" wonders Seidou. He yanks at the door handle, cursing. "Come on—son of a  _bitch!_ "

"Hello?" Akira says. "It's Mado Akira—I'm a TA and I'm—"

"Aha!" crows Seidou, scrambling over to grab a hammer from the pile of dirty sacks. He holds it up, nodding.

"Don't hurt yourself," Akira hisses.

"I can swing a hammer, thank you very much." He rolls his eyes.

"You could throw your back out!"

"Maybe  _you_  would!" Seidou readies the hammer. "We're coming for you!" he hollers, swinging. It cracks against the door. A snap, and some of the wood splinters. The lock swings. Seidou aims again, and the lock cracks, breaking off. "Got it!" He grabs the door, yanking it out.

And almost instantly lets out a groan.

Akira looks up. She drops the phone, running. " _Seidou!"_

He doubles over, clutching his balls and moaning. He retches, pounding the ground with one free hand. He screams now.  _"Akira!"_

She grabs his shoulder. And then she looks up. Something metal, something dirt-clad— _a shovel?—_ flies towards her.

A crack. Her skull burns, and her brain feels detached from her body, as if she's floating. And then she feels the ground slam into her, and something warm and sticky running down her neck, dripping into her ear, and her head, her head feels as if it's been split apart, and Seidou's still screaming, and her dad is too—and she, she's screaming, but there's no sound, a policeman at the door with news, a cello, deadly silence, light and then red, and dark.

* * *

Urie wakes up at the crack of dawn to his alarm just like any other day. It doesn't matter that it's the weekend. He has to work out, and then practice his violin.

Urie lifts in the gym and runs. It's empty. Everyone else is still hungover, probably. If Shirazu was here he probably wouldn't be though. He's too responsible for that.

But Shirazu's dead, and Urie runs faster, trying to outrun that memory.  _If only you were here!_

When he gets back to the dorm, Urie heads into the bathroom to take a shower. He pauses. The door to Mutsuki's room hangs open.  _Is he awake early?_  He doesn't want to pry, so he showers, letting the warm water run over his sore muscles. When he steps out of the bathroom, he notices the door still ajar, and heads over. Maybe he'll ask Mutsuki to get breakfast together. He pushes his wet hair back, readying a smile, and knocks.

The door creaks, but there's no answer. Urie hesitates, and then peers in.

Nothing. Bed neatly made, décor as plain as ever. One thing's for sure, Mutsuki's definitely not at the library. His books at still stacked on his desk.

Okay then. He'll text him, ask him if he wants to practice together. Urie skips breakfast and heads to the music building, where he plays until eleven. He heads back his dorm then. Mutsuki hasn't texted, so Urie calls. No answer.

Mutsuki's door is still ajar. Urie pauses in the hallway, digging his sneakers into the carpet. Should he—

 _No_.

He heads to Mutsuki's room anyways, peering in. Sheet music sits on Mutsuki's pillow, and Urie didn't see any other rooms in use this morning.

That's it. Urie's fucking concerned. He marches over to Higemaru and Aura's room, pounding on the door.

"Yeah?" Hige answers, eyes bloodshot. Aura rolls over, pressing his face into his pillow.

"Did Mutsuki come back with you last night?" Urie demands.

"Huh?" Higemaru blinks. He shakes his head.

"No," moans Aura.

"Was he still at the party?" Urie demands.

"I don't know." Higemaru bites his lip. "Is everything okay, Urie?"

"No," Urie snaps. "I can't find him."

"He's not your dog," Aura mumbles.

"You're a fucking dog," Urie retorts, turning on his heel and stalking away. He marches down to the girl's floor, passing Kosaka Yoriko, who waves at him as she brushes her teeth in the hallway. At least Takeomi probably didn't get laid last night. He slams his fist against Hsiao and Saiko's door.

"The fuck?" comes Hsiao's voice. She rips the door open, a sleep mask on her forehead and her lips curled in fury. Saiko still lies in her bed like a lump.

"Did Mutsuki come home with you last night?" Urie demands.

Hsiao opens her mouth, and then closes it. She shakes her head.

"Okay," Urie says, panic filling him, cutting at him like paper nicking every inch of his skin. He storms over to Saiko, yanking her over. "Wake up, neet!"

"Hey!" Saiko gasps, flailing. "What the—"

"Mutsuki's missing," Urie blurts out. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration. But no. He really doesn't think so. Mutsuki's so introverted it's not like him to be gone like this. Or to have a one night stand. At least Urie doubts it.

Saiko blinks.

"He's not answering his phone." Urie clamps his hand over his mouth.

"Maybe he's just—"

"Something's fucking wrong!" Urie shouts at Hsiao, whirling to face her. God, this room is a pigsty. He wrinkles his nose.

Hsiao flings her hands up. "Okay, okay."

"Last time I saw him he was with Sasaki," says Saiko. "And Rize, and Furuta."

"I thought they all left soon after that," says Hsiao. She rubs her temples. "But I can't remember exactly."

"I'll call Sasaki," Saiko declares, pulling out her phone.

"I'll call Suzuya," says Hsiao. "He was there too."

Urie waits with bated breath. Saiko dials. Aura and Higemaru show up, as apparently Hsiao texted them.

"Maman!" chirps Saiko.

 _That is so inappropriate_. Urie cringes.

"We haven't seen Mutsuki come back from the party—did he leave with you?"

"Speaker phone," Urie hisses to Saiko. She makes a face, but obeys.

"I left with Furuta. We walked Rize back to her dorm," Sasaki answers. "What is going on?"

"He didn't come back last night," Urie cuts in.  _You fucker._  His heart pounds. He hates the video games teetering in a tower on Saiko's desk. Either stack them correctly or knock them over.

"Huh?" Sasaki sounds alarmed. "Well, when I left he was with that security guard."

"Suzuya hasn't seen him, but he's going to call security," Hsiao reports, hanging up.

A coldness grips Urie's stomach. He gulps. "Which security guard?"

"Saeki," answers Sasaki.

That's the one who was harassing Mutsuki that night when he and Shirazu arrived. They both saw him. Mutsuki looked unnerved and Saeki was leering. Fury explodes in Urie's stomach. "If something happened, I—it's your fault! Who the hell leaves someone at a party?" Urie shouts.

"Everyone does, Urie!" Sasaki shouts back. "Mutsuki's a man; he can take care of himself!"

"I'm a girl and I can take care of myself," Hsiao says dryly.

Urie isn't amused. He glares at all of them. Gender is such bullshit when it comes to this. No one can take care of themselves all the time. "That guard is a creep."

"What?" yelps Saiko. She leaps to her feet, nightdress hanging off her, and immediately shoves her feet into shoes. "We're going to comb the campus. Join us or not, Sasaki!" She hangs up.

"First you're coming to security to report this shit," Urie snarls.

Saiko holds her hands up. "Okay, okay."

They troop over to the security building, though Higemaru and Aura decide to start searching already. Urie taps his foot. If Saeki is here, he might throw him against a wall.

"Oh hey," says Suzuya as they arrive. He stands there with Hanbee's arm around him. "We just made a report. I left before Sasaki even did, but—"

"I can't believe he left Mutsuki like that," Urie growls. The plain wooden walls with posted reports of incidents on campus, minimal theft and one assault listed over the past five years. Five years ago, though, there was a murder.

_Dad…_

Not again, not again, not again! Urie wants to tear his hair out. He should have gone to that blasted party. He didn't because he wanted to be a petty—this—concert—why—

"Saeki's not around today," reports the security guard. The other one who was creeping on Mutsuki. Tokage. Urie steps towards him, lips curling in a sneer. In the background, Itou, who works at the office, picks up a phone to answer a call.

"Besides," Tokage says. "That boy has a reputation. He was troubled before he came to us; he's probably off getting high or—"

Urie lunges at him. Saiko shrieks, reaching to grab Urie by his waist. She's surprisingly strong.

"Do you want to wind up in handcuffs?" Tokage snarls.

"Leave him alone!" Suzuya bellows.

Shouting comes from Itou. "I think we have an emergency situation!" He leaps to his feet. "By the custodial shed—Mado Akira was saying someone was locked in and then I heard a bang and screaming—"

 _Locked in?_  Urie meets Saiko's eyes. They both flee, Higemaru, Hsiao, and Aura on their heels. It's not far to the shed—just down the hill and to the left. It sits near the lake, secluded but—

Urie skids to a stop. Mado Akira lies on the ground, crumpled. Blood stains her blond hair, pooling under her. Takizawa Seidou crawls, gripping his crotch and moaning Akira's name.

And Mutsuki stands there, eyes wild, hair tangled and sticking out, a shovel gripped in his hand. His shirt's mostly unbuttoned, the shirt from last night, soiled and hanging on his thin frame, and his dark jeans are stained with blood, and his fingers grip the shovel handle again and again and again, and he looks at Urie like he doesn't even recognize him.

"Put the shovel  _down!"_  bellows Tokage. "You're going to jail, you—"

"What the fuck?" yells Urie. "You didn't even put Yasuhisa in jail!" He looks to Suzuya, who gapes at Mutsuki. Urie realizes that they can all see Mutsuki's binder under his shirt, torn.

 _Saeki_. Urie knows it. He could kill the bastard, strangle him until he turned purple and flopped like a fish—

"I didn't—mean to—" whispers Mutsuki, face stained with tears and smeared with dirt. "I—she—I thought—" He lets out a cry. He raises the shovel again.

Urie lunges. Saiko screams for him to stop, but he doesn't—he just can't— _don't hurt yourself—you don't deserve to be hurt_ —"Stop it! Stop it right now, Mutsuki!"

The shovel clips his shoulder, but Urie manages to hit Mutsuki in the arm, wrenching it out of his grip and throwing it down. He grabs Mutsuki, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight. "I've got you, okay? I've got you. I promise. I have you. You're gonna be okay." He must've thought that Akira and Takizawa were Saeki coming back.

Mutsuki trembles and trembles in Urie's arms, but he surrenders. He doesn't fight anymore.

But he says nothing, and his eyes—they look brown, and lifeless, and dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Akira gets a surprise visitor and Urie confronts three people.


	13. This Great Stage of Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This chapter continues to deal with the fallout of two chapters ago.

Whispers follow Urie everywhere. He stands in line in the dining hall, getting food to take back to Mutsuki, who's been huddled in his dorm room refusing to talk, and refusing to leave his dorm room.

"Well, that was a show," comments Roma at a nearby table. She leans back in her chair, grinning at Urie. "Hey, Kuki. Can you tell us about it?"

"Fuck off," Urie snaps. Roma sits with Furuta, Nico, and another kid with lighter hair. Drama freaks. He pays for the food and hurries back to the Chateau. Saiko's asleep. Still. Because of course she is. He makes his way to Mutsuki's room, knocking.

Mutsuki answers. Bags hang under his eyes. His skin looks sallow and his eyes glassy. Urie hands him the food. "I got you some chocolate."

Mutsuki nods. "Thanks." His voice sounds hoarse.

Urie nods, and then he turns and leaves. Mutsuki doesn't want to talk, and Urie isn't sure what he could even say. Takizawa didn't want to press charges and Akira looks like she'll be all right, but Mutsuki's refusing to say what happened, except that he was locked in the shed and panicked. He hasn't said a word about Saeki. He doesn't need to.

Except for the fact that now he's facing expulsion just like Yasuhisa Kurona. The hearing's on Tuesday. Tsuneyoshi is in charge.

Urie bites his lip. He doesn't want to lose Mutsuki. He looks at Shirazu's empty side of the room, still with his clothes overflowing from the drawers and textbooks cluttered all over his desk. Mutsuki would probably have to move all his stuff out, and his door would just stay shut.

Urie curses. He gets to his feet, shrugging into his jacket. He heads across campus, heart pounding. He enters the music building and looks for the closed practice rooms. He kicks the usual one open.

Sasaki jumps to his feet. "Urie!"

"You," Urie retorts. He crosses his arms.

"I'm practicing."

"To fucking hell with your practice." Urie marches in and glowers at him. "Are you going to speak for Mutsuki? Like Amon spoke for Yasuhisa even if he fucking failed?"

Sasaki blinks. "You mean—in his disciplinary hearing?"

"You know what that security—asshole—did to him," Urie says. "Even if he won't say it. He needs to go down, not Mutsuki. You—" Tears burn his eyes. "It's your fucking fault."

"Mine?" Sasaki glares at him. "I was trying to protect—"

"Kamishiro? What about Mutsuki?" Urie yells. He grabs Sasaki by his shirt, hauling him towards him.

"You don't think I blame myself?" Sasaki yells. He shoves Urie away from him, glaring, fury simmering in his dark eyes. "You don't think I know? You don't—where were you, Urie Kuki? If you care so much about Mutsuki why were you missing, sulking over Shirazu and nursing your ego?"

Urie recoils. "You son of a—"

"I don't know how to help him," Sasaki says. "I'll be there, Urie. But it won't help. Just like Amon couldn't help Yasuhisa."

"Take to Mado. Convince her to argue for mercy."

"Juuzou stated he didn't care what happened to Yasuhisa. It didn't help."

"Not doing anything isn't the same as arguing for mercy! Are you that much of an idiot?" Urie gapes at his TA. "Please." He can't believe he's reduced to begging. He can't—he can't, he won't, he refuses to lose Mutsuki too. Especially because of something that wasn't his fault.

"I want to help!" Sasaki shouts. "Don't you think—there are people I want to save, Urie? Don't you think I feel guilt over—over failing?" His fingers curl, covering his face. "I already failed Rize!"

"Huh?" Urie could spit fire at him.

"I failed her! I could have helped her with—something—years ago when we were dating—well, at least when I had a crush on her—and I didn't and—I'm back to make it right!"

"How?" Urie erupts. "How do you plan to do that? Does she even want your help? Mutsuki—Mutsuki wants your help." Urie's face crumples. _Maybe more than he wants mine._ "Why are you wasting your time on someone who doesn't want your help? Is it for Rize, or is it for you? Do you just want to feel better about yourself?"

Sasaki freezes.

"Who are you ignoring while you focus on yourself?" Urie demands.

"Who are _you?"_ Sasaki retorts, eyes narrowing at Urie behind his glasses. "Who are you ignoring, Urie Kuki?"

It's not whom he's ignoring. It's whom he ignored. Shirazu. Urie turns on his heel and stalks out, marching up the stairs, heading down the hall lined with prestigious awards.

He knocks on Washuu Matsuri's door.

The door opens. Matsuri's eyebrows fly upwards when he sees Urie. "Urie!" He steps back to usher him in. "I wasn't expecting you—I heard that you were involved in calming that incident—very brave of you—"

"I wasn't brave," Urie says. "Mutsuki is—my—friend." _And I like him._ His face colors. Matsuri doesn't appear to notice. He gestures for Urie to take a seat in a beige padded chair across from his cherry wood desk. Matsuri busies himself setting up a water heater for tea. Cups clink. Words run through Urie's head, a rehearsal.

"I have a favor to ask," Urie finally blurts out as Matsuri hands him a steaming china cup.

Matsuri drops into his chair. It creaks. He blows across the tea. "Do tell."

"Mutsuki—" Urie gulps. "You have some sway, don't you? Don't—expel him. I don't—that security guard locked him in that storage shed. He won't say it because he doesn't want to deal with all that, but it's true. He panicked."

Matsuri rubs his upper lip. "There are issues at work that you don't understand, Urie. Concerning Mutsuki Tooru's conduct."

"I don't care," Urie insists. "He's my friend." The teacup burns his fingertips.

"If Mutsuki won't make a report, I'm afraid there's not much we can do," says Matsuri.

"Why would he?" Urie snaps. He shoves the teacup back onto Matsuri's desk. "You've had security interview him! Saeki's part of security! They're colleagues—why would—"

"I will try, Urie," Matsuri says, leaning across his desk. "But I'm limited in what I can do."

 _No, you aren't. You're just a coward._ But at least Matsuri said he would try, so Urie grabs his teacup and gulps. It's bitter, and it burns the skin off his tongue.

"If Mutsuki were to say something," Matsuri begins.

Urie shakes his head. He can't ask Mutsuki to do that. "I have to go." He scrambles to his feet.

"Thank you for coming." Matsuri goes in for a hug. Urie cringes.

"Hey," calls a voice as Urie trudges towards the Chateau. His shoulders hunch _. I'm a failure. I'm a failure. I failed Shirazu and I'm going to fail Mutsuki now_.

Suzuya grabs his shoulder. Urie wrenches out of his grasp. "What do you want?"

Suzuya blinks, weird red _x_ 's marring his skin. "How's Mucchan?"

"How do you think?" Urie blurts out. The wind whips through them. Urie's teeth chatter. "Based on what happened to Yasuhisa Kurona, I think we can be pretty sure he'll be expelled. Unless he wants to make a report, which, he doesn't because who fucking would want to?" His voice rises. Urie clenches his fists. His knuckles pop.

"That's different," Suzuya says. "Kurona was—"

Urie throws his head back. A laugh claws its way out of his throat, shrill and wild. "How is it different?"

Suzuya blinks. Urie can't keep from crying. "You hurt Nashiro, so she wanted to—"

"I didn't hurt her! She chose to drink that much!"

"You provoked her into it!" Urie yells. "You taking blame doesn't erase her blame—Mutsuki—just because your intentions were different doesn't mean the result wasn't the same—he thought Mado and Takizawa were Saeki, I know he did—you left him there, you left him there!"

Suzuya stands there, the wind churning around him. A leaf slaps his face. He looks tiny.

"There's nothing you can do anyways," Urie manages. "It's done. It's up to the fucking Washuus now to find mercy. But if they didn't show it to a girl deranged over losing her sister I doubt they'll show it to a boy deranged over being raped and locked in a shed."

"And just what could I have done?" Suzuya manages. "Kurona wouldn't have stopped."

"Were you really afraid of her?"

Suzuya pales. He studies his shoes, clad in red slippers stained in grass.

"You taunted her the night she attacked you, didn't you," Urie states. "You provoked her." He knew it from the beginning.

Suzuya says nothing.

"Fuck you," Urie tells him. He turns to leave.

"You don't think I know what Mutsuki's been through?" Suzuya calls after him. "You don't think I could help him?"

"He probably won't get the fucking chance in part because of a precedent _you_ contributed to setting!" Urie hollers. He isn't entirely being fair. He isn't entirely wrong, either, and he doesn't care. He wants a punching bag.

He spots Furuta Nimura heading towards him. Urie doesn't move out of the way. Furuta slams into his shoulder and Urie curses at him.

Furuta shakes his head, watching him go with a knowing smile. Urie would love to scrape it off his smug face. But he can't bring himself to say or do anything at all.

* * *

"Akira!"

Her hand feels as if someone's breaking the bones. Akira winces, opening her eyes. Her skull throbs. The lights glare at her. A pale blanket covers her, and Amon's face leans close to hers.

"Hey," she ekes out.

"Thank God." Amon heaves a sigh. "I was so worried."

She has a concussion, and needed stitches on her scalp. Amon tells her she'll be spending the night at the hospital just in case. Akira rolls her eyes. She hates hospital food; it's bland.

"Damn, Akira," Takizawa says when Amon texts him letting him know she's awake. "You scared the shit out of me."

"How are your future children?" Akira asks, face straight. Amon coughs.

"They've recovered," Takizawa answers, rolling his eyes. He drags a chair over to the side of the bed.

"Mutsuki?" Akira asks, wincing.

"They're talking about expelling him like Kurona," says Takizawa. "Since it was the same thing, but with a shovel instead of a crowbar."

"How did he end up in there?" Akira rasps.

Takizawa shakes his head. "He hasn't said."

"I wish I had been there," Amon laments, rubbing Akira's shoulder. The hospital linens feel scratchy against her skin. "I should have protected you—I—"

"She can handle herself," Takizawa cuts in.

"I can handle both of you," Akira grunts. She pushes herself up. A machine beeps next to her. The smell of antiseptic singes her nose.

"Mado," says a voice from the doorway. She cranes her neck and groans. Mistake. The white and black tiles on the floor turn to curdled milk. She sways. Amon pushes her back, gently.

"Glad you're doing okay," Arima says awkwardly, standing several meters away from her bed. "You can take the week off. Amon and Takizawa will handle the class just fine." His eyes travel to Amon, who's still caressing Akira's shoulder.

 _Fuck. Fuck. Fucking dammit._ But Arima doesn't register any reaction. "Glad your coworkers came to see you."

A laugh breaks out. Akira squints. Yoshimura Eto twirls as she enters the room, sending her skirt whirling so high Akira sees a flash of her black underwear. Amon recoils and Takizawa looks as if he wants to disappear into the back of his chair.

"It is just so kind of them," coos Eto.

"You're not even her professor," Arima says flatly. "Why are you here?"

"Because," says Eto. "I wanted to see the drama firsthand. And I also needed to chat with you about the memorial service at the end of the semester when you're done, and I thought you might like to stop for dinner." She winks at Amon. He cringes.

 _The hell._ Akira's jaw hangs open. Arima just nods, blasé.

They talk for a bit longer, and then Eto and Arima leave, and Takizawa excuses himself because the coward just has to run away again. But he pauses as he leaves. "Thanks, Akira."

She swallows. _I didn't want you to get hurt._

"He was crying hysterically when he called me," Amon says, rubbing his brow. "I could barely hear a word he said. He was so worried for you."

Akira snorts. Amon excuses himself to get her dinner, promising curry. She doesn't give a rat's ass that the doctors don't recommend it in her current state.

A few moments after Amon exists, Akira hears footsteps outside the door. "Forget something?" she croaks.

"No," says a voice. "It's me. I didn't know you were awake."

Akira freezes.

Kirishima Touka stands in the doorway, carrying a bouquet of flowers. She hesitates. "May I come in?"

Akira just gapes. She—how is she here? And why? What could she possible gain from this?

"I heard what happened from Takizawa," says Kirishima. She motions towards the tray next to Akira's bed. "Should I leave these here?" Lilies and hyacinths explode from tangled greens. It's a pretty, if jarring, arrangement.

Akira swallows. It hurts to nod. "Yeah. That's fine."

Kirishima nods. She steps back. "Well. I just wanted you to know that we're thinking of you." She digs through her bag. "I also brought you some pastries from the café—"

"Why?" Akira breaks in. "Just—why? Why, Kirishima? Love your enemies or—"

"The only enemy here is myself," Kirishima interrupts.

"Spare me the philosophy." Akira's shaking. Tears burn in her eyes. She doesn't _understand_.

"What I did to your father—is wrong," Kirishima cuts in. Her voice breaks. "It was so wrong, Mado, and I—I'll never forgive myself." She clutches her wrists, shoulders shaking. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't blame you for not forgiving me—I just—I hope you have a happy—"

Akira's mind wavers. She doesn't hear Kirishima Touka now. She hears Takizawa Seidou. _I hate myself. I'll never forgive myself_. "Stop," Akira interrupts.

Kirishima looks up, eyes bright.

"Why?" Akira asks again. "Tell me why you did it. No bullshit this time. Tell me why you were so angry with him." Her voice catches. "Tell me."

Kirishima's eyes fly to her IV, to the bag of fluid and pain medication. "Are you sure you're in the—right condition for that?"

"I don't fucking care," Akira ekes out. "Tell me."

"He fired Fueguchi because Fueguchi was trying to raise a fuss about Tsuneyoshi," says Kirishima. "I heard Ryouko talking to Yoshimura, the manager of the café I worked at in high school. He found out Tsuneyoshi had—I mean—that he had been acting inappropriately towards his stepdaughter. Or girlfriend's daughter. She was my age."

Akira's mouth goes dry. "My father—he wouldn't have done that. He was always—railing against people on the news—people who did that—" Predators. Fury wraps its cords around Akira's throat. Is this bitch lying to her? Just to hurt her? This—

Kirishima meets her eyes. "I think—we always want to believe the best of the people we love. I understand. I—" Her voice trembles. "My father abandoned me, and Yoshimura, before he died of cancer last year—I found out he abandoned his daughter. His real daughter. He treated me like I was his daughter, but I—wasn't."

"So?" Akira snaps. "Are you saying that I'm blind because he's my father and I love him? I—"

"No," Kirishima cuts in. "I'm saying—your father was blind. He respected Tsuneyoshi. Probably was grateful to him. Maybe they were friends, I don't know, I don't know either of them and I never will, but he—probably wanted to protect him." Her shoulders slump. She turns the vase of flowers around and around on the tray. "Your father… he probably dearly loved those close to him."

Tears fall down Akira's face, hot and sticky. She wipes at her nose.

"I'm sorry," Kirishima says again. "I didn't know him. I just—that's what I heard, and what I believed. It's not an excuse." She straightens, clasping her hands behind her back. "I didn't know him. I was wrong, and I don't blame you for your anger."

Akira just stares at her. _My father?_

_Could it be true?_

If so, Fueguchi was… trying to do the right thing. And her father obstructed it. Akira shakes her head and groans in pain.

"Are you okay?" Kirishima cries out.

"Yeah," Akira ekes out. "Are you—do you have proof?"

Kirishima shakes her head. "Just that conversation I overhead. It was stupid of me."

Akira remembers Mutsuki springing out of the shed, clothes hanging off him as he swung, the sound of his desperate screams, the blood on his pants. Nausea chokes Akira. She presses her palms against the papery blanket and flexes her fingers.

 _We're all hurting from people we've lost. And we don't know anyone's full story_. She thinks of what Takizawa told her on that bench, his story, his cry for help that went unanswered. Why didn't Houji answer it? Was he afraid that answering it would be messy, would lead to pain like getting a shovel to the head?

"Knock knock, Mado!" calls a voice from the doorway. Kirishima gulps. Akira peers around her. Sasaki rushes in, a box of candy in his hand. He skids to a stop when he sees Kirishima.

"Hello," she says, her eyes tearing up.

 _Do you know each other?_ Something in Kirishima's expression—it reminds Akira of her own ballooning emotions, the tears and confusion and shock, she felt when Amon and Takizawa returned to her.

"Well, aren't you pretty," croons another voice. Furuta Nimura, the last person Akira wants to see, pops up like a jack in the box behind Sasaki. "I was just hanging with Sasaki. Decided to come by. Glad you still have your head, Mado."

Sasaki cringes.

"Thanks," Kirishima mumbles.

"Did you bring these flowers? That's awfully nice," says Furuta, studying them. "I had to remind Sasaki he should bring something."

"You didn't have to," Akira interjects.

Furuta pulls his sleek hair back from his face. He beams at Kirishima. She flushes. Sasaki's eyes narrow.

_Is this a love triangle?  
_

"I'm back! Curry in hand," Amon proclaims, surging through the door. "Oh." He stops when he sees all the guests.

"I'll be going," says Kirishima. "Feel better, Mado."

Akira watches her go. She wants to call out after her. _Thank you._ But she doesn't.

"Good night," says Sasaki. "We'll let you two—eat together." He glances at Furuta, whose mouth curves into a devilish grin as he looks at Akira and smirks at Sasaki as they leave.

 _I hate him,_ Akira decides.

"Wow," Amon remarks, shifting the flowers to set down the curry. He draws out chopsticks. "I can't believe she came."

"Mm." Akira reaches for the chopsticks. She clacks them together. Her stomach churns. Dammit. She's not going to be able to hold her food until she gets this straightened out. "Hey Amon?" Akira croaks. "Can you call Washuu Yoshitoki? I want to talk to him. And tell him I don't want Mutsuki expelled."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Akira walks in on an unexpected situation and Mutsuki makes some unexpected friends.


	14. The Course of True Love Never Did Run Smooth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Some mild substance use this chapter.

He should be happy. They look at him with arched eyebrows, lips prepared to curve up in smiles, but he doesn't want to give them the gratitude he knows they expect.

Mutsuki curls his fists at his side. He can feel ghost fingers on the back of his neck, forcing his head under water, words that he wants to say only to get it to stop bubbling up in his throat. "Thank you."  _You're the best, Daddy._

"You're dismissed," Yoshitoki tells him. Mutsuki nods, getting to his feet and scrambling out of the room.

Sasaki didn't end up coming after all. He promised that he would, and he didn't. Mutsuki's shoulders shake.

"Hey!" Urie greets him outside the room, where he's apparently been waiting in the hallway. He grabs Mutsuki's shoulder. "How—did it go?"

Mutsuki forces a smile. "I'm staying."

Urie lets out a huge sigh of relief. "I'm so glad."

 _I wish I was dead_. Except he doesn't want to die. He just doesn't want this to be his life. Why does God hate him?

"Don't worry," Urie assures him. "Everything will be okay."

It won't be. It's never been okay. He killed his family. It happened again. It always happens to him. It's his destiny. Stolen away by men.

Mutsuki holds it together until he gets back to the Chateau, when he tells Urie he wants to be alone. He closes the door to his room and throws himself on his bed, screaming into his pillow.

_What's the point in even trying anymore?_

Sasaki didn't come. He was probably at :re. With that bitch. That blue-haired fairytale princess slut.

He sits up and realizes his laundry bag's gone. Panic climbs in Mutsuki's throat. But a note's taped to his desk.

_Doing your laundry for you. Urie & Saiko._

Mutsuki curses and drags himself down to the basement. He does not want Urie doing his laundry for him. His clothes from that night—from both nights are buried in the bottom of it. Cat's blood. His blood.

Mutsuki pushes open the creaky door to find Saiko there, chatting with Urie. She stops and smiles at Mutsuki.

"It's almost all folded," Urie says.

Mutsuki's throat hurts from repressing screams. He nods.

"I'm sorry, Mucchan," Saiko tells him. "I'm glad you're staying though."

 _Why didn't you ask before you took my stuff_? It's not a fair question to ask. But Mutsuki sees a question lingering in Saiko's eyes. And it's a question he does not want to answer. He takes his clothes back to his room and throws them on the floor. So much for Urie's careful folding job. Mutsuki crumples, knees scraping the carpet. He wishes for someone to come, for Sasaki to care, for a different family, for a better, healthier brain, one that wasn't shattered.

 _Why am I not strong enough_? Why was he born defective?

Mutsuki heads to the lobby. He's crying, rocking back and forth, but no one's around, no one cares, Urie and Saiko are shut up in their rooms and  _fuck, fuck, fuck!_  Mutsuki punches a window.

"Mutsuki?"

He turns to see Aura gaping at him.  _Oh fucking great._  Mutsuki swallows. "I—"

"Hsiao texted that you get to stay. I'm glad." Aura lifts his head, bangs shifting to reveal his eyes. "I didn't see anything."

Mutsuki nods. He spots a bag hanging from Aura's hand.  _Weed?_  "Can I try some?" He can't believe he's actually asking that. But he'll do anything. He just wants all the buzzing in his head to stop.

Aura blinks in surprise. "Mutsuki—"

"Please." Mujtsuki steps close to him, reaching for the bag. He's desperate, and it's better than killing another poor cat or a squirrel or a bird or whatever the hell he'll encounter out there.

Fifteen minutes later and Mutsuki's hanging around the pond, sucking it into his lungs. He gags. Aura snorts.

"Are you nervous for the concert?" Mutsuki asks. Anything to break the silence. A bird flutters in the branches overhead, but the air sits so heavy on them. His lungs burn. Mutsuki gulps back a cough.

"Yeah," says Aura, exhaling. Smoke fills the air. To Mutsuki it still smells like skunk. "My aunt's expecting me to do well."

"She's a famous musician, right?" Mutsuki tries to remember. The sunset dribbles orange syrup through the sky.

"Yeah," Aura says again. He brushes his bangs back. "She's also kind of all I had growing up. My parents are losers."

Mutsuki inhales again. His windpipe spasms.  _Ugh_. And instead of feeling all relaxed like he's supposed to, like Aura, whose head lolls back against a pale tree trunk, he feels like he wants to jump into the lake to get rid of the anxiety and memories crawling all over him. "Mine are assholes." Were. They're dead.

_I killed them. I can't even remember it. An axe…_

Mutsuki shudders.

"I just want to prove myself to her," Aura says, slumping back. He turns away from Mutsuki and drops his joint into the dirt, grinding it out with his boot. "I—she's given me everything, taught me everything I know. If I don't—my parents always thought I was an inconvenience. I don't want to have been a waste of her time."

 _I'm a waste of God's time._  Mutsuki stares at the gray water lapping at the shore. "I understand."

Saeki is still on campus. Still a guard. And he doesn't know what he can do about it. And he's scared. Scared of himself. But if he goes back to that counselor they might lock him up again.

Aura walks him back to the dorm, and Mutsuki feels lightheaded, but no relief. It didn't work. Of course it didn't. He's broken. Everything about him is broken.

Mutsuki doesn't follow Aura into the dorm. He finds a bench again, the one with Mado Kureo's name, and wonders why Akira didn't want him expelled. He curls up. He screams into his knees.  _I don't want to be a murderer. I don't want to hurt anyone ever again._

If Saeki finds him here, maybe he'll finish the job. It'd be what he deserves.

Leaves crunch. Someone's found him. Mutsuki trembles, unable to lift his head. His neck screams in pain.  _Do it. Just do it. I don't deserve anything else._

"Are you okay?" a voice breaks out. An unfamiliar, sweet voice.

Mutsuki lifts his head. His eyes are swollen, he's sure.

A girl with a clover barrette clipped in her light brown hair peers down at Mutsuki. A boy with skinny jeans and a safety pin for an earring hangs in the background, hands stuffed in the pocket of his black sweatshirt. He looks aloof.

"Go away," Mutsuki croaks.  _Fueguchi Hinami._

"Hi" says the girl. "This is Ayato. He's my boyfriend."

 _I know who you are._  "I'm the crazy whore everyone keeps talking about," Mutsuki lashes out.

Hinami's eyes widen in surprise. "What are you doing out here?"

Ayato snorts. "Now you're just making that sound bad, Hina. I haven't heard the rumors of the crazy whore."

"He doesn't go to this school, and neither have I, actually," Hinami says quickly. Her face colors. "Heard them, that is. I've just heard about someone who—went through something they shouldn't have. That wasn't fair."

"Wasn't fair?" Mutsuki wants to laugh. He wraps his arms around his knees again, burying his face.

"I don't want to leave you here," says Hinami. "Ayato, we can't."

Ayato groans.

Mutsuki blinks. "Huh?"

Hinami crosses her arms. "You can come to my place if you want. I have a single room. Ayato and I are ordering out and you'd be welcome to join us. I don't believe what they're saying about you any more than I believe what they say about my father."

"Huh?" Mutsuki repeats.

"The man who ruined him," says Hinami. "You're sitting on his memorial bench."

Mutsuki peers at the brass plaque. He scrambles to his feet. "Sorry."

"Not your fault," Hinami says sadly. "But if you want dinner, you can join us."

"Honestly if you weren't my girlfriend your kindness would be sickening," Ayato interrupts. "No offense, Green Hair. She's just too kind for her own good."

Hinami's shoulders slump.

"But it's what I like about you," Ayato adds quickly.

Mutsuki gulps. They don't hate him. They aren't afraid of him. "O-okay."

Hinami chatters about her schoolwork and how she'd love to take musicology next year or the eyar afterwards, depending on the waitlist. Ayato rolls his eyes and grumbles about musicology being dumb music and the upcoming memorial concert being boring.

"No offense," Ayato says as they enter Hinami's dorm. "But it's clearly all just for show."

Hinami rolls her eyes. "He thinks the only worthwhile music is the music he makes. He performs at :re a lot."

"I know. I was there."

"Oh," says Hinami, suddenly remembering Shirazu. "Yeah."

"Sucks," Ayato says. "All of that. You're having a terrible semester."

Mutsuki snorts as Hinami pushes open the door to her room. It's a single room like Mutsuki's. A yellow quilt sits on the bed, and crepe paper butterflies hang from the ceiling. "A terrible life."

"Nah," says Ayato. "If you want to talk terrible lives, Hina and I can relate."

Mutsuki winces. "Let's not."

"Fair." Ayato digs into his bag and pulls out a bottle of wine. Mutsuki's eyes widen.

Hinami grabs some glasses and her laptop. Ayato pours some of the red liquid in, along with soda for Hinami's. He asks Mutsuki what he wants and adds soda as well. Hinami orders sushi.

"What do you study, Ayato?" asks Mutsuki.

"I don't," he replies. "Can't get a scholarship, and can't afford it."

"Oh." Mutsuki focuses on a stuffed rabbit on Hinami's bed. Hinami grabs it and wraps her arms around him. "How did you two meet then?"

"I spent time in juvie. We met there. My dad abandoned us when I was in middle school, and I ran away from my sister and—it did not end well," Ayato says, leaning his head back against Hinami's bed frame. He downs the wine. Mutsuki runs his fingers along the rim of his glass, staring at the liquid that glitters like sparkling blood.

"Sorry," Mutsuki whispers.  _Juvie?_  He looks at Hinami and Ayato. He can't believe they would have spent time there. Mutsuki was too sick for juvie, or so the legal system deemed him. But this means… this means they have regrets too.

"Petty crime," Hinami admits, voice muffled. "After my dad… and then my mom both died, I was just—he used to teach here too."

"I miss my parents too," Mutsuki admits. We're all orphans, aren't we?

And he does. He does miss them. Even if they pushed his head under water, violated him, looked the other way. Because legally, at least, he belonged, and he always, always wanted it to get better. Even now he hopes that in his imagination, if they were alive, they would love him. They would be proud of him.

 _It's all a lie._  Mutsuki begins to cry.

"I blame myself," Hinami whispers. "If I had been a better daughter, maybe they wouldn't have been driving that night—"

 _I blame myself too. But because I did it. I did it_. Ayato puts his hand on Hinami's shoulder. She leans against his chest, bunny still clutched in her arms.

"Sorry," Hinami says, sniffling. "This isn't what I invited you here for."

"I don't know," Mutsuki says. "I'm—sick of pretending everything's fine."

Ayato holds his hand up for a high five. Mutsuki snorts and pokes his palm.

"It's weird," says Hinami. "But seeing Mado here—it's hard, because of what her father did. I don't hate her, but her father ruined mine's career, and we were—their last years were so hard because of her father, but—"

"I don't know how I can see him on campus," Mutsuki manages. Saeki. He wants that man to die. But he wishes Saeki would kill him, still.

"Well," says Ayato. "I'm not a student, let me remind you."

"Ayato, do not get yourself sent back to jail."

"I'm not worth it," Mutsuki cuts in.

"Eh, I can't comment on that," says Ayato, eyes gleaming. He pours himself more wine. "But. Her father was fired because he wanted to report Washuu Tsuneyoshi for sexual—harassment. Or something of the sort, and Mado didn't believe him because humanity sucks, but we don't know the details so we can't do anything about that. But if I can take down one more predator I will." He yanks out his phone. "Naki and Miza will help, I'm sure. And Tatara, and let's be real, Hakatori and Kurona would love to be involved too. With baseball bats. Say goodbye to your car, Elongated Torso Man."

 _Tsuneyoshi_? Mutsuki remembers that man, ancient and sneering. He curls his fists.

The sushi arrives, and they eat. Hinami details how clueless she was about that Ayato liked her until they eventually found out what happened to his father and he finally felt vulnerable enough to tell her. Ayato's face reddens and it isn't from the wine.

"So you have a sister?" Mutsuki asks, having another wine cooler. "What does she do?"

"She owns :re," says Ayato. "Kirishima Touka."

Mutsuki almost chokes on the drink. The blue-haired fairy princess is… Ayato's sister?

He can see the resemblance. Tears blur Mutsuki's eyes.  _Does Sasaki love her? Why? What does she have that I don't, besides a whole brain and a future?_

But he can't hate Ayato.

"I should—get home," Mutsuki says, wavering as he gets to his feet.

"Let me walk you to your dorm," Ayato says. "Hinami and I will. Naki texted and said they're going to strike at 3 am, by the way."

Mutsuki shakes his head. "It's okay."

"No it isn't," Ayato snarls.

He reminds Mutsuki of Urie. Mutsuki checks his phone. Oops. He has about a dozen texts from Urie. "I'll call—my friend."

Urie practically screams in relief when he picks up to hear Mutsuki's voice. "You scared the hell out of me! Saiko and I have been combing campus—"

Mutsuki tunes it out. Urie promises to be right there.

"You're drunk," Urie says when he sees Mutsuki. He sniffs. "Are you  _high_?"

"I'm tipsy, and probably not anymore," Mutsuki retorts.

Urie groans.

"Judge away," Mutsuki mumbles. "I have—nothing else." He trips over a rock. Urie grabs him by the waist, pulling him back to his feet. Wind whips through Mutsuki's hair.

"That's not true, Tooru," Urie says. "That's not true."

"Well, I feel like it is," Mutsuki snaps. He wants Urie to counter him again.

But Urie keeps his mouth shut.

* * *

_Thank you._

The text arrives on Akira's phone as she cuddles Maris Stella, who squirms away from her to go and sashay off to a corner to pout for Akira daring to have the nerve to abandon her.

 _For what?_  Akira texts Takizawa. He and Amon have stocked her fridge and did her laundry for her. Her head still throbs, but she's lucky it isn't anything terribly serious.

 _For speaking for Mutsuki_ , Takizawa responds.

 _I'm glad they didn't expel him,_  she responds, but Takizawa doesn't reply.

If her father were still here, he probably would have insisted Mutsuki be expelled. Despite what Akira wanted. Akira rises and peers at her image in the mirror. Her hair falls greasy and limp. A bruise still spreads across her forehead, purple and green and swollen.

She shuffles towards the fridge, trying to heat up curry. Amon has a late meeting with Arima about the first rehearsal for the concert, which is next week, so he won't be joining her. But the silence chafes at her, reminding her of the late hours her father worked. But he always came home. Except when he couldn't anymore.

Kirishima's words ring in Akira's ears.

She can't hate her.

And Akira doesn't even know what to do now.

She grabs the curry, spicy scent taunting her rumbling belly, and dumps it into a tupperware container. She'll take it to Takizawa's. At least he'll eat with her and distract her from the thoughts about her father pummeling her aching head.

" _He was a good man," Amon told her last night after she told him what Kirishima had said. "He wouldn't have done that."_

" _What if he did?" Akira frowned. "Do you remember anything that might indicate that's—not a true story?"_

 _Amon bit his lip._  " _The opposite," he said._

Akira wraps herself in her jacket and hurries outside, heading to another block of grad student apartments. Furuta Nimura calls out to her as she walks past. "Glad to see your head is still on your shoulders!"

Hoito Roma laughs wildly, her arms around another master's student with light hair who looks more than a little annoyed with her. Akira heard the drama kids will be taking part in the memorial service too. She hopes they don't ruin it. They're wild.

She climbs the stairs to Takizawa's apartment, knocking on the door. He doesn't answer, but the door gives.

 _You left it unlocked? Are you a fool?_  Akira shoves the door open. "Hey, loser, you should—"

"What the—" Takizawa barrels out of the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair clings to his forehead, sopping wet.

And he's ripped. Like really fucking ripped. Like Amon-levels ripped. His abdominal muscles and biceps draw Akira's eyes to them like a black hole she can't look away from.

"Oh fuck me," Akira hears herself say.  _What? No! What have I done?_

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Takizawa shouts. "You scared the—"

"I didn't mean it like that!" Akira yelps. "I meant—your door was open, and I wanted to eat dinner with you! Once you put clothes on that is!" She shakes her head, turning away to hide her burning face. "We need to talk about the first rehearsal for the concert anyways. It's next week."

"What are you freaking out about? I know you've seen a man's bare chest before," Takizawa say dryly.

"Shut up." Akira rolls her eyes, but he can't even see her because she's turned her back to him. His apartment is stuffy and small, furniture mismatched and couch fraying. Her heart thumps in her chest.

"Oh. That's—sure. I just need to—hold on." The bedroom door closes behind him.

Akira lets out a sigh of relief. She clasps her clammy palm to her cheek. She didn't intend to see that much of him. And she isn't certain why her stomach clamped at the sight.

"So," says Takizawa, appearing behind her. "I'm decent. You can look."

Akira turns around, sure her face still looks like she's eaten extra-spicy curry. She manages a smile. "I just didn't want to eat alone."

Takizawa shrugs. His white shirt's too tight. He grabs plates, mismatched, from the cupboard. "Bet it's delicious."

"Seidou, I heard some things." she blurts out. "About my father."

He listens to her as they eat. Akira pushes that image of him shirtless out of her mind.

"I can't offer you any easy answers," he says finally. "Except. That sucks."

Akira nods. It sucks even worse for Tsuneyoshi's stepdaughter. "Do you think my father was better than that?"

Takizawa clacks his chopsticks together. "I think everyone should be better than that. But I barely knew him."

 _No_. Akira's eyes burn. "So, you think it might be true."

Takizawa throws his hands out. "What do you want me to say? That Kirishima's a liar? She's not, not really."

"No," Akira says. "That's not what I meant. I meant—" She gulps.

"You're not your father," Takizawa says, resting his chin on his hand. "What he did doesn't define you."

Akira swallows.  _I know that._

Does she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Fruit has fun, but no one else does.


	15. There's Daggers in Men's Smiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Happy New Year!

"Glad to see you feeling better, Akira," chirps Sasaki as he passes her in the hall. She just had her first practice session since the incident, and her fingers felt slow and heavy.

Akira nods. "I'm glad to be feeling better." She flexes her fingers, rubs her wrists. "Excited to start rehearsing for the concert?"

Sasaki grimaces. "We'll see after practice tomorrow."

Akira snorts. "Seriously. I'm still not even sure what the drama club has planned. Itori won't tell me."

"Itori seems to pride herself on being mysterious," Sasaki remarks. He sips a travel mug of tea. "Are you going to Amon's?"

Her heart seizes. "I'm headed to :re," Akira answers. "Actually."

Sasaki turns to stare at her. ":re?"

Akira nods. "The manager. Kirishima Touka. She visited me in the hospital. She gave me flowers. I—wanted to talk to her." And invite her to the concert.

"Oh." Sasaki rubs his chin.

"Do you know her?" Akira asks.

A sad smile crosses Sasaki's lips. "I did. Long ago."

Akira thinks of Takizawa, of Amon, of the years she spent trying to push them out of her mind and not being able to, because they still had threads wrapped around each others' wrists, tying them all together. "I know the feeling."

"We were friends back—during a gap year I took," Sasaki says. "And then I—left."

"Why?" Akira questions. She brushes her blond hair back from her forehead and leans against the wall, a faint headache drumming between her ears. "I mean—you used to live here, didn't you? Why did you leave?"

Sasaki looks down at his shoes, perfectly polished. "Are there things you regret? Things you can't face?"

"No." She thinks of Fueguchi then. And the bench. Her chest tightens.

"Must be nice," Sasaki comments. He shoves his fists into his pockets. The mournful tune of  _Amazing Grace_ sounds through the building. A violin. Urie or Hairu, probably. Or maybe Arima. It sounds skilled.

 _I wish I knew what that kind of grace felt like_.

"I came back because I do have a chance to make things right," Sasaki says. "For one person."

"But not all?" Akira wants to know. She thinks of Fueguchi, again. There's nothing she can do to help her. To make it up to her. So she can ignore it. Move on. She has to.

Sasaki presses his lips together. "I'm afraid to try."

Akira gulps. "Do you want to come? To :re?" She'd be there. She could—maybe her presence could help.

Sasaki shakes his head. "Have fun, Akira." He walks off, and the mournful notes fade.

They played this song at her father's funeral. Akira played the cello for it. They told her he would have appreciated it. She remembers Amon approaching her afterwards, apologizing for—for what? And Takizawa, standing in the shadowed corner. He told her she played beautifully.

Akira drives to :re. Kirishima's working behind the counter with Kurona, of all people. Kurona waves at her. Akira waves back.

"Hey," Kirishima says, exhaling as if she's nervous.

"Hey," Akira says. "A mocha, please." She leans against the counter. "Hey. Both of you. Kuro too. I wanted to invite you to the memorial concert we're having in two weeks. I can get you tickets."

"Am I allowed on campus?" Kurona asks darkly, mopping up a coffee spill.

"Wear a scarf over your hair," says Akira. "It'd make Amon and Takizawa, too, happy to see you there." She looks at Kirishima. "Sasaki would be there."

Her eyes widen, lashes framing indigo irises. "I—did he—"

"He didn't tell me much," Akira says. He didn't need to. And she's gotten her happy ending. With Amon. And Takizawa's back. And she can't help Fueguchi. But maybe she can help Kirishima and Sasaki. "But I relate."

Kirishima pulls the level down. Steam rises, squealing as it makes Akira's mocha. She doesn't say anything at first. The clock, sandwiched between weird rabbit masks, one black and one white, ticks away. Finally she exhales. "I don't know. I don't want to hurt him."

"What do you mean?" asks Akira.

Kirishima dumps chocolate into the mocha. Extra syrup. Akira smiles. "Sometimes I think it's better if he forgets me."

"Why?" Akira demands.

"But I still want him to remember," she adds with a snort. She covers the mocha and rings Akira up at the register. "I'm not a great person. I think we both know that."

Akira thinks of Takizawa again. Her heart squirms in her chest. "I don't know. I think maybe we get to choose who we want to be. Even if we sucked in the past, and yeah, you sucked."

Kirishima's eyes widen in surprise. She snorts. Kurona cackles.

 _I sucked too. I still suck._  She thinks of Fueguchi. She's stuck, like gum. "How did you know I was in the hospital?" Akira inquires.

"I visit all the time," Kirishima says.

"She visits Shinohara and gives him flowers. All the comatose or brain-damaged patients," Kurona chimes in. "Because she's  _such_  a bad person,  _ooh_ , how  _terrible_ , right?"

"Did you know him?" Akria asks, handing over the money.

Kirishima shakes her head. "It doesn't matter."

Akira sips the mocha. It singes her tongue, but it's sweet and rich, just as she likes it.  _Do you just want to atone? Can you ever atone? Isn't me showing up her enough to satisfy you?_

"He chose to leave," Kirishima says. "Kaneki. Sasaki, as he's going by now. He has his reasons. Showing up at the concert won't help him."

"Who moves first, then?" Akira asks. "Someone has to. Or you'll just be stuck here hating yourself and delivering flowers to people you don't even fucking know and who will never know who you are or appreciate you, and he'll be stuck at Washuu driving himself into the ground trying to fix—whatever he's trying to fix, the one thing he says he can."  _And I can't do anything of that. I'm stuck, I'm stuck too._

_Help me. If you want to atone, help me._

_I'm the worst. I have no right to ask that._

Kirishima's eyes widen. Kurona's jaw drops.

"Sorry," says Akira. "I'll go now."

She practically runs away.

* * *

Mado Akira speeds away as Ui pulls into :re's parking lot. She doesn't notice him, which is good, because Furuta Nimura sits in his car with him.

"So," says Furuta after they get coffees, Furuta shamelessly flirting with Kirishima. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Hairu told me," Ui states flatly, turning his coffee cup around and around in his hands.

"Hm?" Furuta leans back.

"She told me," Ui repeats. "About you. About Tsuneyoshi. About Rize and Arima and—he's your brother."

Furuta's eyes pop. "I had no idea that floozy had those kinds of balls."

"Are you insulting Hairu?" Ui glares at him. He imagines grabbing Furuta by the throat. He's avoided him since Hairu told him. But now he can't. "You're trying to get me to take down your own brother—and it's jealousy, isn't it? It has nothing to do with helping Rize. If you wanted to help Rize you would have to care about someone besides yourself." Tears of shame burn his eyes. "I can't believe I was such a fool."

Furuta leans closer. He shoves his coffee out of the way, lip curling in a snarl as he grabs Ui's wrists. "You don't get to dismiss me that easily. Yes, I want to take Arima down. Yes, I want to punish Tsuneyoshi. Do you have any idea what that lecherous snake did to Rize? Arima doesn't even notice because he doesn't want to, because he knows he couldn't do anything. And I hate him for it and I don't care that I hate him for it."

Ui yanks his wrists away from Furuta. "I'm done with you. This isn't about Rize. This is about  _you_." He struggles to keep his voice low. It trembles.

"He raped her." Furuta glares up at him. "I won't stop until I take that old bastard down. Are you really going to just walk away?"

"How is revenge on your brother going to stop Tsuneyoshi?" Ui hisses. His mind whirls. Did Tsuneyoshi ever hurt Hairu? Ever threaten her? He'll kill him if he did. Tsuneyoshi's the real enemy. Not Arima.

"I want to take them all down," Furuta says. "Everyone who just silently participates. Evil triumphs when good men do nothing. Edmund Burke."

"Keep your—"

"Sasaki knows. Kaneki knew. He ran because Rize told him she didn't want anyone to help her, and now he wants to help take Tsuneyoshi down. Or so he says, but since he's Kaneki, he and Arima are just twiddling their thumbs waiting for an opportunity."

"You want revenge," Ui says. "On Arima. For not—protecting her."

"Can you blame me? If he got his head out of his violin-singing clouds for more than two seconds he might have noticed he was making designs on her before—"

And Tsuneyoshi still has that Saeki working on campus. Ui wants to punch something.  _Arima, you coward_.

"He still doesn't know," Furuta says bitterly. He shoves his coffee away from him. "Rize hasn't told him. And he's too much of an idiot to notice."

The door to the café opens. Ui turns to see a boy with a scarf covering his lower mouth walk in. Furuta's lips curve. "That's Kaneki Ken's old best friend. Except he blames himself for what happened to him, and he can't help him so he avoids him. Unless Kaneki feels like he can do something for you he forgets you exist. Because he's afraid you'll forget him if he can't help." Furuta narrows his eyes. "Sound familiar, Ui Koori?"

Tsukiyama Shuu enters again.  _Oh, spare me_. Acid prickles at Ui's throat. Tsukiyama heads up to the counter, not noticing them yet.

"Case in point," says Furuta. "Tsukiyama, and Kirishima. Don't you think it's sad that Tsukiyama so desperately wants to be loved that he can only focus on someone who's incapable of loving anyone except in such a way as it's love of himself? Sasaki talks big about wanting to save people but he doesn't give a shit about atoning because  _oh noes_ , he might then realize he's not a great person."

 _But—_ Ui thinks of Karren. Of Hairu, of Arima. "You don't give a care about that either."

"Koori!" proclaims Tsukiyama, throwing his arms out and making a beeline for them. Ui's desperate. He grits his teeth. "How is Kaneki? Has he mentioned me at all?"

"No." Ui's fingers tighten on the cup. He downs the last of the bitter liquid and gets to his feet.

_Hariu, why do you love someone who won't even notice you?_

_It doesn't have to be me. Just find someone. Anyone. Who will notice you._

_I love you, Hairu. I just want you to be loved, even if it's not me. But it won't be Arima, will it?_  A lump grows in Ui's throat. He meets Tsukiyama's eyes. "Kaneki's never going to mention you. He's too focused on saving himself and how he feels about himself to wonder about you." The words come clipped, hard. Furuta starts to grin.

 _Rize's your violin, isn't she, Kaneki?_  Ui looks behind the bar and sees Kirishima, watching him. And the violin is Arima's Rize. It gives his life meaning, purpose beyond just being an illegitimate unwanted child.  _Did it get you noticed by your father, Arima? Your scumbag piece of shit father?_

Tsukiyama's jaw drops. "You—"

"Maybe talk to Karren," Ui snaps. "She loves you, or are you blind? She loves you. She loves you and she is willing to go to great lengths for you, and you don't see—you don't care—" His chest heaves.  _Why don't you notice her? Why are you so cruel that Eto's taunts land?_  Not just for Karren, but for Ui. "I'm out of here." He turns and storms out of the café, Furuta on his heels.

"Take a word of advice," Ui says as he drives, hands shaking. He grips the steering wheel. "Helping Rize isn't going to make her love you."  _Hairu isn't going to love me_. He wants to cry.

Furuta glares at him. "I fucking know that!"

"No, you fucking don't!" Ui yells back. "You keep hoping—I want to help her too. I am going to help her. But taking down Tsuneyoshi and Arima isn't going to help her necessarily. And even if it does, she won't love you. You're a delusional child."

"Fuck off!" Furuta yells. "I'll tell Arima you're going behind his back and—"

"Oh, so you'll just risk your—"

"Do you think I give a shit about what happens to me?  _No one ever has!_  And I'm not going to be the one to start!" Furuta clutches his face. A laugh, wild and toxic, splits the air. "I don't care. I don't care about me. I care about her."

"Liar," snarls Ui. "You care about yourself. All that you said about Kaneki—you're no different. Except you don't care about making sure people like you, so long as you think you've helped Rize."

" _I love her!"_ Furuta's screaming now. Screaming, and laughing as if it's the most hilarious thing he's ever said.

Ui pulls into the parking lot at Washuu Fucking University and turns the keys in the ignition. He turns to Furuta. "So what?" he asks. "So you love her. So what?"

* * *

Practice is being run by a bunch of incompetent idiots who don't know how to run a simple practice and give Urie a massive headache wondering about how the hell they can run a school.

He glances over at Mutsuki, sitting alone at the piano. He refuses to look at anyone. Urie smelled pot on Aura the other day and wanted to deck him. If he gave that to Mutsuki—

_Talk to me, Mutsuki._

_Mutsuki, I want to help you. You helped me. You're alone, and that—it's agonizing._

Ihei misses a note. Ui heads over, trying to give her advice as they pause. Yet again.

Urie can't look over at the saxophonists. There's no Shirazu. Saiko sits with the other oboe players, playing a ditty while they wait. Mado scolds her. Sasaki huddles by himself, next to Amon. Arima looks bored, rubbing his eyeglasses.

Eto stands with her creative writing class, as they'll be reading poetry. The drama club is also gathered, Roma tittering and making faces every time they mess up. Uta and Itori discuss something in the background.

"See something you like, Koori?" says a voice. Urie turns to see Furuta setting his instrument down with a roll of his eyes.

Urie then turns to Ui, who stiffens. But not before Urie and everyone else has seen that he was not so subtly checking out Ihei's chest.

"If you wanted to know what color her bra is," continues Furuta. "It's probably pink."

"Actually, it's black," Ihei counters, frowning. Ui's face turns redder than blood. He looks as if he's about to die. Hirako cringes.

Roma lets out a hoot. Yosh slides his eyes to her with a smirk on his face.

"That's inappropriate," snaps Mado. "You're excused from rehearsal, Furuta—"

"Of course you would defend it," sneers Furuta. "Considering that you're fucking Amon. Tell me, Mado, did you two fuck each other way back when he was still your father's TA?"

"Get out of here!" Amon shouts, leaping to his feet.

"Or I'll call security," threatens Takizawa. Mado looks as if she wants to melt. Arima still only looks mildly concerned. Eto doubles over, almost dying of muffled laughter.

"Ooh, scary, Mado's two lovers are angwy with poor wittle me," says Furuta, clasping his face. "Whatever will I do?"

Takizawa shakes his head wildly. "It's not like that! Don't you dare imply that Akira's—"

Urie wants to vanish. What the hell is going on? Saiko's even stopped playing her oboe. Mutsuki's almost cowering under the piano. Higemaru and Aura both have their jaws hanging open, and Hsiao looks as if she wants to bitch-slap Furuta.

"Oh right," says Furuta. "You didn't work for her father, of course it can't be like that. Tell me, Mado, Amon, do you call out each others' names when you come or do you call out Kureo's? A little Oedipal, don't you think? If you're not familiar with the text I'm sure Eto can help you out." His grip tightens on his folder of music.

"I'm calling security," snarls Amon.

"Of course. You do always have to be the hero, don't you?" Furuta claps his gloved hands. Roma's now shrieking with laughter in the background. Yosh elbows her. "I have a suggestion. Takizawa and Mado, you should just do it and relieve us all of having to endure the sexual tension. There's a room out back."

Takizawa actually leaps at him now. Hirako grabs Takizawa, restraining him. Mado throws her sheet music at Furuta's head.

"Security's on their way," says Ui, hanging up his phone.

"Oh, you got over your shame enough to do something?" croons Furuta. "Maybe Ihei will reward you for your bravery with sex. I'm sure if you tell her to just envision Arima, maybe if you wear glasses, it will all be—"

Now Ui lunges at him. Ihei grabs her music stand and hurls it at Furuta. He ducks. It clatters. Urie leaps to his feet, heart pounding. Hairu's face is bright red. Arima peels himself off the wall, frowning. "Nimura—"

"Oh fuck you!" Furuta screams at Arima. Mutsuki trembles, tears in his eyes, as if he's barely keeping it together.

 _Son of a bitch!_  "You're a piece of shit!" Urie yells at him. "Leave them all alone, you crazy mother—"

"You know who is a crazy person, Urie Kuki?' snarls Furuta. He points at Mutsuki. "The person you're in love with."

"What the hell?" Urie screeches. " _I'm not in love with him!"_

The moment the words leave his lips, his tongue tastes ash. Horror slams into Urie.  _Am I?_  He turns to see Mutsuki backing up, shaking his head wildly.

"Stop!" Saiko cries.

"Did you know, Kuki?" taunts Furuta. "Did you cover it up? The fact that he killed those cats? Suzuya, the kid you tried to tutor is the reason you were so scorned? It's all his fault. All of it. He's crazy though so I suppose we can't blame him."

"That's a _lie!"_  Mutsuki screams, fists balling. Suzuya's jaw falls open.

Furuta snickers. "He probably believes that, too. He's got a dissociative disorder. Doesn't even remember that he murdered his parents and brother with an axe. Japan's own Lizzie Borden. Did you know that?"

"That's not true!" Mutsuki screeches. He clutches his face, clawing at it.

"Careful!" Furuta calls out, holding his hands up and hopping back. "He might murder us all! Run away!"

Urie lunges at Furuta, and no one stops him. He punches him square across the nose. Blood spurts. "You filthy  _liar!"_

"Killer!" hollers Furuta. "Murderer!"

"Shut up!" Sasaki finally bellows. "Shut up, shut up,  _shut up!_  Leave him alone!"

Urie turns. Mutsuki pushes past the cellists, knocking music stands onto the ground as he flees. "Mutsuki!" Urie yells. It's not true. It can't be true. He won't believe it.

"Haise—or should I say Kaneki Ken?—you don't have the right to start on me," Furuta pants front his knees. Blood soaks his shirt, dribbling down his chin and onto the floor. "He's running away because he doesn't want anyone to know him. Same with you, right? Otherwise you could actually face Kirishima and Tsukiyama and Nagachika, but you're just a coward afraid of having been an asshole. Which just makes you more of an asshole, but, well, that's all the—"

"Stop," Arima commands.

"That's the best you can do?" sneers Furuta. "You enabling—Eto could be naked in front of you and you'd just ask her if she was chilly, you dense blockheaded—"

"You're done," Eto says, marching over to Furuta. "You're so done. Say another word and I will rip out your tongue and eat it for dessert." She grips his bloodied face.

He glowers up at her. Urie hesitates. The door opens and security marches in. Tokage. And Saeki.

Urie runs past them.  _Mutsuki! Mutsuki. Mutsuki. Mutsuki._

_Mutsuki, where are you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Tsuneyoshi demands an explanation, Urie searches for Mutsuki, and Hairu confronts Ui.


	16. Truth Needs No Color

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

"Explain."

Akira sits between Amon and Takizawa, Ui, Sasaki, and Hirako behind them, and Arima standing behind them all. Washuu Yoshitoki glares at them all. His father, Tsuneyoshi, looks even angrier.

"He was out of control," states Amon.

"Is it true that you two are seeing each other?" demands Yoshitoki, gesturing to her and Amon.

She gulps. Takizawa puts his hand on Amon's shoulder. "Yes."

"And is it true you're seeing that student?" Yoshitkoki looks directly at Ui, who shrinks in his chair. His chest heaves.

"He's not grading her papers," Hirako cuts in. "I am, and—"

"No," Ui interjects. "We're not—seeing each other. We are—close friends, though." He hangs his head.

 _You do love her_ , Akira thinks. It's the one bright spot in all of this. Even though Ui's probably too humiliated to ever do anything about it now.

"Great," says Yoshitoki. "Problem solved. Mado, you're switching to Arima's section. Ui, you're switching to Amon's section. Adjust your schedules accordingly."

Akira flinches. No one's going to argue, though. They don't have the right.

"You're all on probation," declares Tsuneyoshi, his deep voice cutting through the room. Shadows wind along the wall, twisting like storm clouds about to open up and drench them all. "All of you. One more crisis this semester and I'll—"

Ui sucks in his breath.

Yoshitoki frowns.

 _How can you blame us for what Furuta did_? Akira bites her lip to keep from unleashing on this slimy piece of—

"What will happen to him?" asks Arima.

Arima. Asking a question. Akira tilts her head back to look at the professor. Ui glares at him as if he'd like to murder him. Akira doesn't understand why.

Arima pushes his glasses back on his nose. "Furuta. Will he—"

"He'll go before a disciplinary committee," states Tsuneyoshi. "We'll see."

Ui now pales.

Arima nods.

"Get out," says Tsuneyoshi. "Except you, Kishou. You, stay."

Ui glances over his shoulder. Akira hangs her head as they slink out.

"Sorry," Amon whispers when they get outside. Rain starts to patter down. Takizawa bites his lip, glancing at the two of them. Akira spies Eto loitering under a tree nearby.

"It's not your fault," Akira says.

"I should have—the ethical considerations—"

Akira glares up at him. "Are you saying you regret being with me?" Her voice comes out shrill. She doesn't mean to panic. But everything that Furuta said—the things he implied—they're like a storm of crows set loose inside her, and they're flapping their wings and pecking and clawing her apart. Panic shivers through her.

"That's not it at all!" Amon counters. "But I should have—waited—or—"

"I waited _four years!_ Without a single word from you! Without a single word from _either_ of you!" Rain pelts Akira's face now. She glares at them. "You don't think it hurt? You don't think I ever wondered or wanted to contact you but had _no fucking idea how?_ "

"Oh, poor you," says Takizawa. "I was just dealing with depression and trying to stay _fucking alive every day!"_

"Then tell me!" Akira screams. "I would have been there for you! Take a chance on me!" She covers her mouth. "You're here, but you're not fine, are you?"

Takizawa's mouth opens and closes. His lips tremble. "I'll never be fine." He turns and stalks off. "Don't you dare follow me, _Mado!"_

Akira turns to Amon, glowering up at him. "And you?"

"I don't want to let your dad down!" Amon manages. "He'd be so—"

"He'd be happy!" Akira screams. "I don't regret it!" _You—you—I spent so long wanting you._

Amon holds her. The rain, cold, falls over them.

* * *

"We have to find him," Urie pants.

"Where would he go?" Saiko cries out. Rain soaks through her pigtails. She's shivering. "I can't—lose another friend." Her fists ball up. Tears run thick down her cheeks. Hsiao wipes them away.

"What he said isn't true, is it?" demands Higemaru.

"Of course not," declares Hsiao, wrapping an arm around Saiko's shoulders.

A gnawing sensation fills Urie's abdomen. He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter." Either way, they need to find Mutsuki. They need to save him.

"If it's true, then he's a murderer," Aura says, voice shaking.

"And you're a fucking pothead," Urie snaps. "I don't care. I don't _care_!" Fuck what his father would have wanted. Mutsuki's his friend. Mutsuki helped him. And he—Furuta wasn't wrong. Urie does have feelings for him. "I don't care what you are, or what he is—all that matters is that he's Mutsuki, and I want to find him."

"I agree," says Saiko. Lightning cracks overhead. Just like the night Shirazu died. Just like that night. Just like it.

"Yo, Urie!"

He turns. Fueguchi and her boyfriend struggle towards him, huddled under an umbrella. Mud splashes their boots. Fueguchi squints at him, that dumb flower she wears in her hair an affront to everything that's happening. And the boyfriend with his safety pin earring just grins at him like they're old pals.

"We heard what happened," Fueguchi informs him. "I ran into Mutsuki that night last week on the bench—the Mado bench. By the lake. You could start there."

Thunder rumbles, drawing closer. Urie peers up at the rain. "Thanks."

"I'll take the library," Aura says.

"Dorms," says Hige.

"We'll comb the cafeteria and the other side of campus," Saiko declares, clutching Hsiao.

That leaves him to take the bench. Urie nods and charges across campus. He doesn't want to go get an umbrella. He's already wasted so much time.

 _Why couldn't you trust me, Mutsuki_?

But it's not really a surprise. If it is true… Urie refuses to let himself think about the possibility. He spots the bench and skids on wet leaves. Rain spatters against the lake's surface. The bench is empty.

 _Fuck_. Urie drags his hands through his hair. He lets out a yell and kicks the brass nameplate. _In memory of Mado Kureo_.

The security building isn't far from here. Urie envisions marching in there and punching Saeki in the nose. _This is all your fault_. His feet start to move on their own. He thinks of his father, of the way his body was torn apart from the explosion and how Urie has to walk by that very place every single damn day.

The shed.

Urie picks up pace, scrambling up the hill. His foot catches on a root and he slams into the ground, palms sliding on soaked leaves and dirt. He wipes his hands on his jeans and clambers back to his feet. He spots the shed, bags of soil clustered outside, and notices the door ajar.

Urie yanks it open. It smells like wet wood and fertilizer, and Mutsuki's curled up in one of the corners, face buried in his knees, white jacket smeared with dirt.

"Mutsuki," he says, heart pounding.

Mutsuki doesn't move.

"I'll leave the door open. Or cracked." Urie spots a shovel. If Saeki shows up Urie will do far worse to him than Mutsuki did to Takizawa and Mado. He approaches, steps creaking against the footboards. "Mutsuki?"

His shoulders shake. But he doesn't look up at Urie.

"I'm sorry," Urie tries. Tears split his eyes. "I—I should have reached out more—I should have—stopped focusing so much on myself and—I should never have let you go to that party alone—" His voice cracks. Thunder howls, shaking the shed. "Mutsuki, I'm sorry—"

Mutsuki shakes his head, but whatever he's saying comes muffled. Urie crouches down. "What?"

Mutsuki lifts his face. A crazed smile cuts across his cheeks. "Better run, Urie. I'll hit you with a shovel. Or I might."

Urie blinks. "I think I could stop you."

Mutsuki blinks. His eyes are red-rimmed, nose swollen. Urie settles down on the damp floor. He doesn't know what to say. "Fuck Furuta." How's that for a start?

Mutsuki just cries. Tears slide down his face, fat and round. Urie reaches out, wiping them with his thumbs. Urie waits for Mutsuki to speak, but he presses his lips together, shut.

"Mutsuki," Urie says. "It's—" _Not true, right?_

He spies the shovel again. _Why did you come back here?_ To this place of terrible memories. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It wasn't the first time," Mutsuki says.

"Huh?"

"Here," says Mutsuki, gesturing. "What Saeki did to me. My father—"

Urie's limbs grow cold. He reaches out. His hand rests on Mutsuki's shoulder.

Mutsuki's voice shreds. "He would rag me into the bathroom—stick my head in a bathtub full of water—tell me he was doing me a favor—tell me I was ungrateful—until I said he was the best daddy—he wouldn't let me breathe." Mutsuki buries his face again. "He raped me. Over and over and over again—it's my destiny—being stolen away—Saeki—there's something wrong with me—"

"No," Urie cuts in. "There's nothing wrong with you!" He pulls Mutsuki's shoulder back. "Please. Please look at me, Mutsuki. You're not—that's not—I'll kill them; I'll kill them all." Fury crunches his voice. He can't breathe.

"I already did!" Mutsuki looks up at him, tears and snot running down his face. "I—snapped—I have a dissociative mental illness—I snap and don't remember things—I killed them all, my mom, my brother—I just remember him hurting me, same as always, and then there was blood. I killed the cats. I don't remember doing any of it. I'm _sick_ , Urie."

Urie can't breathe. It's true.

It's true, and Mutsuki looks at him in terror. "They released me from the hospital last spring. I was doing so well until they—some people found out I came from the hospital—Tokage gave me knives—I am _grotesque_." He lets out a cry, mauling at his face.

"No," interrupts Ui, grabbing Mutsuki's wrists. "No, no, Mutsuki you're not—that's not your fault—you're sick, and your father—he's the worst kind of shit—"

Mutsuki glares at him. "I'm a murderer! Murder is murder!"

"You were how old? _He_ hurt _you_! You—I know you're a murderer, fine, but _I don't fucking care!_ " Urie meets his eyes. His mouth hangs open. The air feels cold against his teeth. "You—you're Mutsuki. Tooru. You helped me. I was—I hurt you, and you hugged me. You told me it could be okay. You—you gave me hope, Mutsuki, you were the first taste of family I felt in years—since my father died—you showed me there might be more to life beyond what I could earn—because I couldn't earn—I can never earn—you matter, I don't care what you've done, I want to help you, Mutsuki, Tooru, I want to help you."

Mutsuki shakes his head. More tears squeeze out. Urie puts his hands on Mutsuki's damp cheeks. "You don't belong in here." _You don't belong to them._

"My mind's broken."

"I know." And still, Urie loves him. Still, he sees hope in Mutsuki.

Mutsuki falls against him, burying his face in his shoulder.

"When you're upset," Urie says. "Instead of burying it and hurting a cat, talk to me. I'll listen. I don't care what I have to give up. I really believe you're worth it. To me."

"I'm not."

"You are." Thunder cracks overhead. Mutsuki jumps.

"He'd still want you, too," says Urie. "Saiko and everyone—we're all looking for you. Shirazu is too, I believe it."

"When I woke up here," Mutsuki whispers. "I was so scared. I couldn't believe it'd happened again."

Urie presses the back of Mutsuki's head. "Don't look at it." _Don't remember._

"And if I need to?" Mutsuki lifts his head.

"I'll hold you," Urie says. His arms stay around Mutsuki. He breathes in Mutsuki's soft, clean scent. "I'm here."

* * *

He's not hungry.

Rain lashes the windows, and Ui huddles in his apartment. He must have made Hairu feel worse, the last thing he would ever want to do. Now she thinks he's some perv only interested in her for sex. Hirako texted, but Ui didn't respond.

Furuta gave up. It's the only explanation for his outburst. He gave up on Rize.

A tear pricks Ui's eye. _I love her._

_So what?_

A knock sounds at the door. He hesitates, and then answers. Probably Hirako. "Yeah?"

His heart drops into his stomach.

_Hairu._

_Hairu Hairu Hairu Hairu Hairu._ Hairu is here. Hairu is outside his door, hair damp from the rain, not wearing a coat because of course she's not, vest and pants, the ones she wears to impress Arima, damp, hands clasped in front of her.

Ui's face burns. "I-I'm—Hairu—Ihei—"

"I want to talk to you after what Furuta said," she interrupts. Blunt like always.

"Well, this doesn't look great, if you're here—" Ui starts to bluster.

Hairu stomps her foot. He closes his mouth in shock. "I just want an answer. I feel like I deserve one."

"An—answer?" He doesn't understand. His fingers feel like needles are pricking them. He's scared.

Hairu peers past him, as if searching for something in his apartment. "Do you like me, Koori?"

His brain rejects her words. "Huh?"

Hairu's brow furrows. "Furuta said you were looking at my boobs, so—"

Ui shakes his head wildly. "It's not like that. I mean—yes." His head drops. "I am sorry—I—I know that's vastly inappropriate of me, I swear I've never inflated your grade, I know it's unethical, that's why I asked Hirako to take over your grades—and I'm not going to be your TA anymore they're switching me and Mado—" _I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry._ The last thing he ever wanted is to hurt her, and he has.

Hairu leans against the doorjamb. She studies her shoes. "So. You like me."

Ui's wheezing. Someone put him out of his misery. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

 _Because I'm an idiot._ "Because—" _You make me laugh and you challenge me. You make me want to find something to smile at in everything. You keep going and you're determined and you're strong_.

He can't say any of that. "I—like you." The shame almost cripples him. "I'm sorry. I betrayed your trust. Hairu, it won't affect your chances of grad school or anything if you want to pursue music—I'll straighten everything out with Arima, I'll—"

"Why?" she asks, still not meeting her eyes. Her shoulders shake. "Why do you like me?"

Ui can't speak. A gurgle emerges.

"Why, Koori? Why me?"

"Because you make me feel alive," he whispers. He doesn't know what else to say. He's no poet and doesn't have the words to illustrate her smile, her laugh, her stupid silly brainless antics that in spite of everything give him hope.

She's not brainless. He is.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

"You don't have to do that," he manages.

She grabs his tie. Ui freezes. She looks straight up at him, eyes emerald fire. "Kiss me."

"Huh?"

Her lips tremble. "Kiss me, Koori."

"I—"

"I want you to," she interrupts. "You're not my TA anymore, right? Kiss me. Kiss me if you want to. Or if you don't, I'll go, but tell me."

His brain isn't working. He can't comprehend this. "But what about Arima?"

"Arima's a god," Hairu says. "I don't want a god. Did you really think that I—didn't feel anything for you? You treated me like an equal. I've never had that before. I'm always the weird girl or the bastard daughter or the little sister." She drops her eyes.

"Hairu," he says. Something churns in him. Something light. He brings his face close to hers. He can see the pores in her skin. Her lips part. Her eyes fixate on him, waiting, his mouth centimeters from her. And he wants to do it, do it right, who cares if it's right, but—

Hairu stands on tiptoe, pressing her mouth against his, hesitant. Her lips are chapped, rubbing his. Ui's fingers tingle. _She's kissing me_.

His hand cups the side of her face. His lips dive between hers, opening her mouth with his. Hairu lets out a sigh. Her hand wraps around his waist.

A voice clears from the hallway. _Oh no._ Ui pulls back, gasping. Hirako stands there, Shiba even looking dumbfound. Hirako just looks… not surprised. At all.

Hairu kicks the door shut.

"Hairu!" _Hirako will—_

She grabs him in another kiss. Ui's not sure how long they stand there, but they move to the couch then, both of them coming up for air periodically, otherwise kissing, and all Ui can think is that he's kissing Hairu, Hairu, Hairu. She's the most precious person he's ever met.

"Hey Ui," she whispers in his ear. "Do you want to see those boobs you were staring at?"

Ui pulls back. His brain short-circuits again. Is she—offering—"I—"

Hairu reaches out and takes his hands, searching his eyes for a yes or a no. She brings his hands to her chest. Her hands run up and down his sides. She's pressed up against the back of the couch.

This isn't right. Not here. Ui is not going to go this far with Hairu on the couch.

"Can we have sex?" Hairu rasps.

 _Well, that answers that question._ Ui swallows. "That's moving a little fast, don't you think?" They're already on second base and it's been like twenty minutes. And his body's already betraying that he wants more and she's noticed and he feels like scum.

"I like fast."

"Are you sure?" Her shirt's rumpled. A button's already undone.

She nods. "I want to."

Damn, she's forward. But that's what he likes about her. Ui tilts his head, gesturing for her to follow him into the bedroom. He fumbles in his dresser drawer, finding a box of condoms. His heart pounds. When he turns around, Hairu's already stripped down to her underwear, and is unbuckling her bra.

"See, I told you it was black," Hairu proclaims. "I do have a pink one, but I wore it last week." She tosses it to the side.

"Um—" Ui just stares at her. Her clothes lie in a heap at her feet, and her chest is bare and Ui can't believe he was just touching her there. "Hairu—slow down."

"Oh. Okay." Hairu leaves her underwear on. Ui hesitates, and then shrugs out of his vest, yanks off his tie. He unbuttons his shirt and slips off his pants. In the past he's always undressed partners, but—

Hairu kisses him again, pulling him onto the bed. He's never been with someone like her. Someone who kissed him with this much feeling. Someone he is terrified of hurting.

She pushes him down on his back, crouching over him, Her lips descend to his neck, trailing kisses down his chest to his navel. Ui tenses. A moan escapes his lips as she kisses his chest again. He reaches down, hands on her hipbones, pausing to make sure it's okay before he pulls her underwear down. She reaches for his boxers next, and then he's completely exposed to her.

Ui shifts to the side, reaching for the box of condoms. Hairu sucks in her breath.

"Are you okay?" he asks, pulling one out and unwrapping it.

She nods. "I've just—never done this before."

Ui freezes, condom in his hands. That had never occurred to him. "Maybe we shouldn't do this."

Hairu blinks, kneeling on the bed, completely nude and so, so breathtaking. "Do you not want me?"

"No!" Ui looks down at himself and grimaces. "I think it's obvious that's not the case."

Hairu giggles.

"I just—don't want to hurt you," he manages. "We'll go slow."

 _You really trust me that much._ Hairu shifts so that she's lying under him, ready. She nods. She reaches out and wraps her arms around his waist. He kisses her again, more forcefully than before. When he starts, he hears her suck in her breath. "Are you okay?"

She nods.

"Does it hurt?" He can't hurt her.

"No." She shakes her head, eyes wide. "Just like—pressure. It's different. It's okay. It's good."

 _I'm having sex with Hairu_. Ui wraps an arm around her to, holding her close as he moves, slowly, gently. She starts to copy his movements. She arches her back, lips against his neck.

"Hairu—" he manages. "You're—beautiful. You're beautiful—you're so smart—you're so—amazing—you're so kind—you're so vivacious—"

With each word her fingers tighten around his shoulder blades, digging in as if she never wants to let him go. He feels himself lifting off and moves his hand to make sure Hairu experiences the same.

And then she says his name. _Koori_. Her fingers dig through his damp hair as he slows, still gasping, pulling his face down towards hers, so she can kiss him again.

And this night, when she sleeps in his bed, she presses her face against his shoulder, and he holds her close.


	17. Children Wish Their Fathers Looked But With Their Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

Ui rolls over and into someone else. Light glows behind his eyelids. He cracks them open to see Hairu fast asleep next to him, her mouth open and a quiet snore emanating from her lips.

 _I slept with her_. Ui gulps. What if Tsuneyoshi finds out and takes it out on Hairu?

She stirs. Her eyes fly open and she sits up, hair mussed. "Morning."

"Morning," Ui manages, reaching out to smooth her hair. "Are you okay?"

She frowns. "Yeah?"

Ui nods. _Do you regret it? We should have waited. I should have—_

"We're dating, right?" asks Hairu. Her chest is bare.

Ui almost chokes. He turns to her. "Do—I mean—do you want to date me?"

Hairu snickers. "No, I just slept with you for kicks. Yes." She pulls the blanket up around her shoulders. "Don't you want to date me?"

He nods.

"You're the first person I've ever kissed," says Hairu. "You know I've never even been on a date?"

 _Oh dear God. I'm a piece of scum_. Ui can barely breathe. "I'll—take you on one."

Hairu's eyes light up. A grin crosses her face. She claps her hands together. And then she gets to her knees and kisses him again.

 _I love you_. He kisses her back, eyes closed. He wants to protect her with every fiber of his being.

"Can we go somewhere today?" Hairu asks as she pulls her bra back on.

Ui buckles his pants. "Where do you have in mind?"

After a breakfast of eggs, Ui drives them downtown. Hairu sends a text message and waits at a small café with Ui. It's not as pleasant or as quiet a place as :re, more mainstream than hipster, filled with cackles and the smell of pickles.

The door opens, and three teenagers pile in, bickering with each other. One skips ahead of the others, white hair mussed and green eyes, Hairu's eyes, huge and happy. He squeals when he sees her there, charging towards his sister and throwing his arms around her.

"Hey!" Hairu laughs. Shio refuses to let her go, clinging and giggling. His two friends, a dark-haired boy and a girl with a lavender bob, regard them with solemn expressions. "Shio, this is—my boyfriend—"

 _Boyfriend_. Hearing the word said out loud sets Ui's ears abuzz. He flushes.

" _Boyfriend?"_ screeches Shio, loudly enough so that everyone turns to stare. He lets go of Hairu and raises his fists in a fighting stance. "Do I need to protect my sister's honor?"

"Your sister is perfectly capable of handling shit herself," Hairu responds. "This is Ui Koori. He's getting his DMA at Washuu."

Shio nods. He lets out a chuckle. He sticks out his hand. "Ihei Shio."

Ui nods, shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"You too." Shio hops up and down. "Are you playing in the memorial concert? We got permission to go."

Ui nods. "I am." He smiles.

"This is Souzu Rikai," says Shio, gesturing to the lavender girl. "And Arima Yusa."

Yusa sticks out his hand too. Ui shakes it. Arima's little brother. And Rize's.

"Do you all play instruments?" Ui asks.

"We play violin and Rikai plays harp," chirps Shio.

Hairu and Ui order ramen for the three kids. Shio complains about homework from homeschool and Yusa scolds him for complaining. Rikai just eats quietly.

 _You're all Tsuneyoshi's kids,_ Ui thinks. _And you're all—the same age_. Or around it. What kind of womanizing asshole is this man? His stomach turns and pork almost gets caught in his throat. He doesn't want to be in the same room as that piece of shit. Does Tsuneyoshi have a personal grudge against condoms?

Shio babbles about the concert and about his lessons. "Dou you know Hirako Take? He tutors us."

Ui nods. "He's my friend." _He probably knows Hairu and I spent the night together._ Ui's face burns.

"He's nice," Yusa declares.

The door opens again, and a boy with a cap pulled down over his hair comes in. He glares at the trio of kids. Ui frowns.

"Oh no," says Yusa.

"Hey, Hajime," says Rikai, forcing a smile.

The kid flips them off. Ui's jaw drops. Hairu leaps to her feet.

"He gets lessons too," says Yusa. "He's—edgy."

"He thinks he's the only person who ever suffered. Mutsuki tutors him," says Shio. "He lost his parents in the explosion at Washuu. They were biology professors."

"Seriously?" Ui asks. He didn't know that. He frowns. Hajime takes a seat with a few other kids. They're all dressed in black and look like they're trying to be emo. Hajime's shoulders slouch.

"Don't be surprised if he creates a huge fuss at the concert," warns Shio. "I heard him. He's saying that he wants to find whoever set that explosion off."

"Ah, yes. Because the cops couldn't even do it so I'm sure a child could," Ui says sarcastically. Hairu snickers.

Shio sips his ramen. "He's mean. I wish he wasn't. I'd like to be friends."

 _You're a good kid,_ Ui thinks. Hairu smiles.

They say goodbye, and Ui drives them back. "Thanks for letting me meet them."

"I want the best for Shio," Hairu says quietly. "He's my baby brother."

Ui thinks of Arima. His fingers tighten on the steering wheel. Where was his protectiveness towards Rize? "How—many of you are there?"

"Probably like twenty all together," Hairu says. "Tsuneyoshi—gets around. And that's including us—stepkids."

Ui bites the inside of his cheek. Blood singes his tongue.

"You don't approve."

"I think Tsuneyoshi sounds like a bastard," Ui states.

"He is," Hairu agrees. "But he did give me a scholarship." She leans her head against the window.

"Hairu," Ui begins, heart pounding. He slows for a red light. "Did you—I mean, did you know Rize? Kamishiro Rize?"

"Of course." Hairu wraps her arms around herself. "She was always—she was Furuta's best friend growing up. Until she started going off the deep end junior year of high school. She was one of Tsuneyoshi's favorites too—I could tell he felt like he was being _so_ kind and generous, taking her in after his own son, Arima, was already grown and Yusa was just a little kid."

The light changes. Ui wants desperately to look at Hairu, but he has to keep his eyes on the road. "Hairu, did Tsuneyoshi ever—did he ever hurt you? Or hit on you?"

"No," says Hairu. "He didn't. Well—" Her breath cuts off.

Ui pulls over. He wants to punch something.

"Don't overreact," Hairu says. "He sometimes made comments. But he never did anything." She looks scared.

Ui exhales.

"Are you made at me?" Hairu cries out.

"What? No!" Ui gapes. He unbuckles his seatbelt, reaching for her. "No. Even if he had, it wouldn't be—nothing is your fault." He runs his hand through her hair. She presses her face into his shoulder.

"There were rumors," Hairu says, voice muffled. "About Rize. After she started going off the deep end."

"I've heard those rumors," Ui admits.

Hairu pulls back, looking up at him. "Poor Rize." Her voice catches. "I want to—be free of this man. I can't wait to graduate."

Ui thinks of Rikai, that sweet, quiet, solemn girl. Horror crawls down his spine, biting his skin. "I want to take him down."

"Huh?" Hairu blinks.

"Furuta—asked me," Ui says. "I mean, he hates Tsuneyoshi."

"I know."

"But he—" Ui squeezes his eyes shut. "Did Arima know? About Rize?"

"No," says Hairu. "She didn't want him to find out. I remember her screaming once about how he was never around in the first place. I don't think he even knew Tsuneyoshi had been giving her gifts and favoring her. He rarely visited. But Tsuneyoshi told us we should aspire to be like him—that we could rise about the circumstances of our birth—" Hairu's voice cracks.

Ui grasps her hand. His thumb rubs circles over her soft skin. "You have nothing to overcome. Just him. Him and his sickening way of treating people like objects—" _Furuta was right._

How would Ui feel if he couldn't save Hairu from that man? Rize, Rize—she stays here because there's no place else for her to go, is there? At least her scholarship would provide a roof over her head. Ui wants to vomit. _Sasaki, how much do you know?_

"You're more than that," Ui says. "You're you, Hairu, and that's all—you're all I've ever wanted you to be." He doesn't care if she acts brainless or naïve sometimes. He loves her. _I'm going to take down Tsuneyoshi even if it means I never earn my degree_.

Hairu looks up at him, eyes wide. She leans in, pulling his face down to hers.

* * *

Amon's shower lacks decent shampoo. And there's no conditioner at all. If only Akira had brought hers with her. But she forgot. Akira scrubs some of Amon's pine-scented man shampoo into her scalp, cringing as she remembers Furuta's tirade. She avoided Amon that night, but came over last night to talk, assure him there was nothing going on between her and Takizawa other than that they were two people who cared about each other. Of course, Amon hadn't been worried.

Akira washes the chill away and steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around herself and around her hair. She leaves the bathroom to start coffee.

"Morning," Amon says from the couch, reading the newspaper.

"Morning," Akira echoes. She grabs two mugs and pauses, spotting another envelope. "He won't give up, will he?"

"Hm?" The newspaper crinkles.

Akira holds up the letter, facing Amon. "Donato. Your—father."

"Not legally," Amon retorts.

Okay, maybe that wasn't a kind thing to say. Akira bites her lip. "Do you want to talk to me about him?" The coffee machine gurgles. The rich scent fills the air. Akira pours the coffee and takes the mugs over to the couch.

"I'm not sure there's much to say." He accepts the cup of coffee.

"Okay." Akira settles on the couch, blowing on the coffee to cool it down. But no. It's not okay. "I want to be there for you."

"Huh?" Amon blinks, turning to her.

"Whatever happened—with Donato—you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, that's not what I'm trying to say, but—it clearly still upsets you and I—" This isn't fair of her. She knows it, and yet she's still wandering down that path. _Let me in. Let me in. You don't have to be perfect, Koutarou._

"He was a monster," Amon says. "That's all I need to remember about him."

Akira nods.

"I hate him," Amon says, curling his fist. "I hate him, and—I hate me when I remember—I'm not like him, I'm not."

Akira blinks. "Of course you're not."

"But he—bought me gifts and when others made fun of me at school, he fought for me with the principal though he got nothing of it—he still writes to me—why?" Amon lashes out. "He couldn't love me. There's no way a monster like him is capable of love."

"I'm sorry," Akira croaks. Sun drenches her back, bare until the towel.

"If I don't hate him, I feel as if it's blasphemy." Amon says. "As if that means I'll be like him."

"You're not like him," Akira cuts in. "That wouldn't make you like him—you're nothing like—"

Amon hangs his head. "But I don't hate him sometimes." It comes out a whisper. Ashamed.

"I still think you're a good man," Akira says, voice trembling.

He snorts. "I feel like I'm betraying his victims."

"I don't know how you feel," Akira says. "But. Sometimes I feel like I'm betraying my father's memory." There. It's out. Those rusted words she's been concealing this entire semester, the words that have decayed faster and faster since she spoke to Kirishima.

"What do you mean?" Amon turns to her, blinking.

Akira stares into her mug, at the coffee swirling there. She bought these beans from :re. "I went to talk to Kirishima at :re."

Amon nods. "Okay…"

"She told me Tsuneyoshi—was rumored to have done—acted inappropriately with his stepdaughter. Sexually. And Fueguchi found out and went to my father, and my father—fired him over that. To protect Tsuneyoshi." Akira's eyes burn. The coffee mug burns her fingertips.

The color drains from Amon's face. He shakes his head. "That's not true."

"Kirishima believes it. Fueguchi Hinami probably does too." Akira sucks in her breath. Air sticks to her lungs.

"You know your father. He wouldn't have—"

"I knew him as my dad," Akira interrupts. A tear drips from her eye. "He would have tea parties with me, read me stories, help me with my math homework and teach me cello, late at night—take me for curry after every recital—I never knew him as a professor. Or as a colleague." She meets Amon's eyes. "Tsuneyoshi gives me a creepy vibe, Amon."

Amon gulps coffee and sets it down on the end table with a clank. "He's not a nice man, that's for sure, but I never heard anything like that."

"And my father?" She's pleading. But she's not sure for what.

"He never would have accepted that."

"He was stubborn, my father," Akira says, tugging the towel off her scalp. Damp hair falls down her shoulders, cold. "If he didn't believe it—"

"He wouldn't have fired Fueguchi over that. You know him, Akira. You know he wouldn't have."

Akira leans forward, resting her head in her hands. "I don't know.'

"If he did that, he'd be no better than child me," Amon says. "Unable to say anything because—a reason that's not good enough, fear or—or—it's not enough of a reason. Your father's the one who gave me hope that things would be different, that I wouldn't have to forever be defined by how I'd failed—he couldn't—he couldn't—"

"There's no way to know, is there?" She meets his gaze.

Amon gulps. "What do you want from me, Akira? I'm trying to reassure you, and you—"

"I want you to stop trying to be my hero, and just try to be by my side! _That'_ s what I want! That's what I need!"

"That's what I want to do!"

Akira glugs more coffee down. "Amon, my father—he—he's always been my hero. What if he isn't one? What if he was a coward in the end? What if all this anger and—and hate—I've had for Kirishima, for Fueguchi for causing that controversy that took so many hours of his last year with me—was all pointless in the end?"

Amon squeezes his eyes shut. "Akira—your father—he was my hero too." Amon's voice broke. "If it weren't for him, I don't know where I'd have ended up. I can't forgive myself, I never will, but he told me I could still have a future—if he did the same thing in the end—I can't—I don't want—he was too good of a man to do that. A smart man, a hard man, but a fair man. He knew where to assign blame and always did so judiciously. He was wise, and his good traits—I see them in you, too."

Akira flinches. Amon's hand rests on her shoulder. Akira looks up at him. "Amon, I'm not my father."

And for the first time she isn't certain she even wants to be. If it's true. If.

Something chews at her gut. Kirishima believes it. And she—she's inclined to trust Kirishima, even if she shouldn't, even if she should trust the man who raised her over—

But what if that's how her father thought? That he should trust the man who gave him a job he loved, a career, who spoke highly of Akira's mother, Dad's beloved wife?

"Your father told me we always have to consider the right thing to do," Amon says. "I'm sure he did that. I'm sure he did. You shouldn't—"

Akira jerks to her feet. She glares at him. "Are you in love with me, or my father?"

Amon's jaw drops. "Akira, that's not fair."

"All we talk about is him!" Akira screams. "I loved him, but I can't—this place, it's killing me, you're back, you and Takizawa, just like I wanted, and he's not, but you're trying to bring him back anyways and—and so am I, and I—" _Why can't I let him rest in peace?_

_Dad, why did you die?_

_Dad, why did you leave me?_

_Dad, tell me it's not true, because if it is—was it all a lie?_

_Daddy?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Akira talks to Takizawa and Furuta exposes his dealings with Ui to Hairu.


	18. A Doubtful Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

"Geez," says Takizawa, popping a lollipop into his mouth. "That just sucks."

The librarian passes by, and Takizawa ducks his head to avoid her seeing the lollipop and probably snatching it directly out of his mouth. Akira turns her back to the woman. The sound of pages rattling and a student coughing fill the background.

"I know," she says. "And I—don't know what to do with it. If it's really true—" She's spent her entire life trying to be like him. Wanting to fulfill his legacy. Clinging to his name.

She feels so alone. "Amon's been very supportive."

"I'm glad."

Except Amon's idea of support seems to be still talking about him, still clinging to him, and Akira wants to scream. Every time his name comes up she wants to cry. Is it a symptom of something poisoned inside of her, if a daughter's repulsed by her own father's name?

_You were never like that, Daddy._

_Why?_

"I wish… I could just dismiss it," Akira says, leaning back in her chair. She tips it back so that she rests against the wall. "Do you think it makes me terrible for not being able to? If someone told you your parents were just like that, would you—"

"I don't know," Takizawa interrupts, talking around the lollipop. He scratches his head, his cowlick, the one he's had since she met him in middle school, bobbling. "It's hard, Akira."

"I wish I could be like Amon," Akira says. "Decide he was good. Donato was bad. And move on. And if I did decide he was bad, I don't know—I'd still want to visit his grave because—he's my father and he gave me tea parties and he once yelled at a sexist teacher in high school because they said I was a stupid girl who would never amount to anything."

"And you love him," says Takizawa, leaning across the desk. "I don't know that it has to be exclusive." A student drops a book in the background. It thuds.

"Huh?" Akira peers up at him.

"You can love him and what he was to you and still think he was a shitty person to others," says Takizawa. The light dims outside.

Akira flinches.

"Because if that's true, he was," Takizawa says. "Also, give yourself a break. It's hard to accept. If it's true, you need to accept it, but it's hard, and while it'd be nice if you could just turn a switch and do it, it's okay to be in pain over it." He meets her eyes. "It was shitty of me to abandon you without a word."

Akira's jaw drops. "You were—sick."

"Yeah. Still, even if I couldn't help it, you were hurt, and I'm sorry you were hurt. And I also treated you terribly in high school. I was jealous." Takizawa crunches into the lollipop. "And now I'd like you to forget I said this."

 _You're saying it for me_. Akira swallows. "Thank you."

He meets her eyes. He smiles and shrugs, sticking out his tongue. "Be honest, how green is it?"

Akira tosses her pencil at him. He catches it. "You look like you ate the Grinch for dinner."

"Cute." Takizawa rolls his eyes and turns to his laptop. "How's your new section?"

"Not bad." Akira sighs. "But all the students know why I'm there, and Arima won't acknowledge it at all beyond telling me it's okay, but I don't know what he's really thinking because he's inscrutable."

"He's Arima," says Takizawa. "He's always like that."

"Sure," agrees Akira, heart pounding. She pulls her knees to her chest. "But Amon and I didn't do anything wrong, and I hate feeling like people think we did."

"You didn't," Takizawa agrees. "You're both adults. Undergrads are gonna gossip. They need something to distract them from the pain and chaos that is their lives."

Akira snorts. She leans back again. "What should I do about Fueguchi?"

"What do you mean?"

"Amon thinks I should leave her alone. But I—I want to talk to her, I want to see—I want to hear her side of things—"

Takizawa frowns, unscrewing his water bottle. "And if she tells you what you think she'll tell you?"

 _What do I think she'll tell me?_ Akira knows. "I want to—apologize." She gulps. "I know it's not my responsibility, but I—I—"

"You can ask if she wants to meet with you," suggests Takizawa. "Ask Kirishima if you're not certain. She can ask Fueguchi for you. And then respect whatever she says, and keep in mind that she won't be able to give you any absolution, nor should she have to."

Akira nods.

_What do I want?_

_I want to be me._

_I don't know what I would do. What if I'm a terrible person?_

"You're a good person," Takizawa says. "At least you want to do the right thing a lot. You just get mixed up about what that is. You don't prioritize yourself like I do."

* * *

"Is he awake?" Saiko asks, appearing in the hallway carrying a plate piled with pancakes. Hsiao stands beside her, dressed in an apron. Aura and Hige crowd behind them, faces wrinkled in concern.

Urie shakes his head. He carried Mutsuki back to the dorm last night and spent the night on Mutsuki's floor. Not that either of them slept much. Mutsuki dozed off around dawn, finally, and Urie—Urie feels like he did after Shirazu's death all over again. Helpless.

"Maybe you two should talk to him," says Hsiao quietly. "Aura, Hige, and I don't know him as well as the two of you do. We can wait out here—"

"Just make sure he knows we're out here," chimes in Hige.

Aura nods, and as Urie meets his eyes, Urie remembers the pot he knows he gave Mutsuki. The anger Urie once felt now feels like embers. Aura cared. He just sucked at showing it and really, how can Urie blame him for that? _What's going on inside you?_

Saiko gulps. Hsiao squeezes her shoulder.

Urie nods too. "Let's go." He takes Saiko back to Mutsuki's room, cracking the door. Mutsuki stirs, sitting up in bed. "M-morning," Urie stammers.

"Hey, Mucchanko," chirps Saiko. She holds out the plate of pancakes. "Freshly made. By Hsiao. So they're not like. Inedible."

Mutsuki blinks. "What—"

Saiko plops down on the bed and shoves the food at him. "I insisted on putting chocolate in them."

Urie smiles. He sits by Mutsuki's feet and resists the urge to grab them.

"Why are you here?" Mutsuki whispers.

"We love you," says Saiko. Tears fill her eyes. "We love you, Mutsuki Tooru."

Mutsuki's eyes widen. He runs his hand through his mussed green hair.

"I have had—so few people to love in my life," Saiko says. "I didn't care about—I only cared about fictional characters like in mangas and animes until I met you both, and Shirazu. My mother was such a—I didn't matter to her, but you three came into my room and tried to drag me to class—you made me feel like I mattered." Tears slip down her plump cheeks. "Please don't feel like you don't—matter to us, Mucchy."

"Shirazu's dead," whispers Mutsuki. His hands knot on the blankets. A sob emerges, rattling his frame.

"He still meant something to me," Saiko insists. "He loved—I loved him. I love him. He still matters. He always mattered. So do you. I don't care what you've done in the past, Mucchan. I don't care. I love you. We all do."

"You saved me," Urie says quietly. The words scrape his throat as he says them. "You showed me I didn't have to—earn the things I wanted—you showed me there was more than just—school. If anything I'm Saiko's opposite. I thought achievement was—you showed me that I could be awful and you'd still—and I want to show you—I don't care that you've been awful before. I love you too. I want to help you."

He's in love with Mutsuki too. Knowing what he knows, reading the old articles he found online, he can't hate Mutsuki. He would have insisted a murderer was worth nothing, before he knew Mustuki. Now shame coils around his esophagus at the thought.

Mutsuki huddles over. Urie reaches for him, hand awkwardly patting his knee. Saiko looks at Urie in disgust.

 _Oh no, am I that obvious_?

"If it makes you laugh," says Saiko. "Hinami texted me. She and Ayato are worried about you. And they said to tell you that the :re crew burned down that security guard's car."

Mutsuki lets out a snort. "I hope more burns. Him and Tokage."

Urie bites his lip. Mutsuki told him about Tokage killing the cats. But he didn't want Urie to report them, and Urie wants to respect Mutsuki's wishes.

Mutsuki doesn't want them being his heroes. He just wants them with him.

 _So I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere._ Neither is Saiko. Urie checks his phone. "Suzuya's texted a bunch of times, too. He wants to see you. He says to tell you he relates."

Mutsuki sighs, leaning his cheek against the wall. Urie thinks of the rumors about Suzuya. Were some of them true?

Does Suzuya blame himself for what happened to Yasuhisa Nashiro? Should he? Should he take that responsibility?

So many questions. But he's with Mutsuki right here, and Saiko, and he feels like there's hope.

* * *

Ui packs up his binders, organizing his office space. Hirako rubs his head. He hasn't brought up what he saw between Ui and Hairu yet. But he's tutoring Shio, Yusa, and Rikai tomorrow, and Ui's sure they'll tell him he's Hairu's boyfriend.

Sasaki rubs his eyes, staring at his screen. Ui checks his phone. Hairu texted that she's waiting below. "See you."

"Good night," Sasaki echoes.

The door to their shared office flies open. Ui jumps.

"Hello, hello, hello!" calls Furuta, clasping his hands.

"Have you not been expelled yet?" wheezes Hirako.

"I don't know," Furuta croons, holding out his phone. "I have recordings here that might interest all of you. Recordings of Ui Koori planning to dig up dirt on Arima to get him fired because he viewed him as a rival for Ihei's affection—"

"That's not true!" Ui erupts. Except: it is. Breath freezes in his lungs. "What are you doing? Why are you doing this, Furuta? How do you even have that?"

Despair. He knows. Furuta's lost Rize and is about to be kicked out of school. Tsuneyoshi is going to get away with it all—well, not if Ui has anything to say about it. That's why he turned on Arima in the first place—he was desperate to find hope. And he clung to anything that could offer him that. Ui's shoulders shake. His head hangs.

"Stop it, Nimura," comes a voice behind him.

Ui lifts his head. His heart skips a beat.

Hairu marches in. She slams the door to the office behind her and crosses her arms over her chest. "Is that true?"

Ui just stares at her. His eyes sting. He shakes his head. Furuta lifts his hand, moving it along the screen of his phone. _You played me._

_I played myself._

He's going to lose her, and it's all his fault. Ui curls his fists. His shoulders shake. "Yes. It's true." His voice breaks. "I believed—what you said about Tsuneyoshi and—"

"The fuck is happening?" wonders Hirako.

Ui can't look up, or meet anyone's eyes. Humiliation crawls through him.

"Tell me what happened," Hairu demands. "All of it. I don't—all of it!" She crosses the room, and Ui feels her fingers, soft, on his hand. He looks up, jaw tightening. _Are you_ —is she really—

She's holding his hand, stepping between him and Furuta.

_You choose me?_

_I don't deserve it, Hairu. I was so selfish—so possessive_ —

Furuta cusses.

"You're such a loser," Hairu informs him.

"Thanks for the brand new information, princess—"

"You did it for Rize, but you don't know how to help her," Hairu cuts in.

Sasaki blanches. Ui spots him inching backwards. Hirako frowns.

"Maybe you should directly ask people who might give a damn," Hairu says. "Instead of going behind everyone's back."

"Like who?" Furuta rants. "Like _you?_ You were too scared to put a toe out of line!"

"You never asked," Hairu snarls. "You assume the worst of everyone because you're a wretched sn—"

"What is going on?" requests Hirako. "Someone. Ui. Sasaki. Please. Explain."

"You know," Ui says, looking at Sasaki. "Don't you?"

"Tsuneyoshi is a creep," Sasaki states. He shuts his laptop. "And a predator." Sasaki draws in a deep breath. "I couldn't save Rize—I'd just graduated high school and I had a crush on her—she treated me terribly after, like, one date, but then when I overheard her arguing with him I had to do something. Except I failed." He drops into a chair, head in his hands.

"Stop trying to save Rize," says Hairu. "She's not a goddamn doll. Help her save herself."

"Don't you think I've tried?" cries Furuta. He clutches his skull.

"No, I don't!"

"Why did you fail?" Ui demands. "What happened, Sasaki—or should I say _Kaneki?"_

"Oy," mumbles Hirako.

Hairu pries her hand out of Ui's. She locks the door, and then tugs him to his chair. She sits in his lap. _Oh my God._ Ui's face burns. Hirako just cocks his head to the side.

"He's a monster," says Furuta, voice trembling. "He won't even look at me—and I look just like him. Just like Yoshitoki, one of two sons he acknowledges."

Ui's head snaps up. "Who's the other one?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Furuta sneers. "Arima. Arima Kishou. The golden son. The golden bastard—I'm just—we're all just trash. Less than pets."

Hairu lowers her head. She wipes at her eyes.

"And no one's ever noticed?" Hirako croaks. "Arima—"

"Arima's the one who invited me back," Sasaki cuts in. He taps at his keyboard, absently pressing keys while his monitor's off, just for something to do. "He—I ran into him at the other college I went to—when I was graduating—and he recognized me. He asked me what I was going to do after graduating and asked me to return."

"Why?" demands Ui. "Why would he—"

"He wants to save Rize," Sasaki interrupts. He takes off his glasses and rubs his temples.

"He doesn't know jack shit about Rize," snaps Furuta. He curses and leans back against the wall, tugging at his red leather gloves. "He ignores her. She's an embarrassment."

"That's not true," Sasaki cuts in. "He does. He just—is afraid that if he does anything he'll—"

"Oh, so he's afraid?" snarls Furuta. "How do you think she feels? If you act like you don't care, even if you do, how is the other person supposed to know you actually care? Does feeling like you care even count if you never get off your ass and show it? If all you do is behind-the-scenes work? What the hell is my brother even planning?"

 _Brother_. Ui's eyes pop as he realizes Furuta must be Shio, Yusa, and Rikai's brother too.

"He wants to expose Tsuneyoshi," says Sasaki.

" _How?"_

"Rize can't know," says Sasaki. "She doesn't want to report anything that happened. She didn't even tell him. He figured it out."

Ui feels uncomfortable. Hairu shifts on his lap.

"So it can't be about her," Sasaki says. "We're compiling reports. This entire semester. I've been interviewing people and working to track down—Rize's not the only person he's done this to. We want to write an article exposing him."

"Too slow," snaps Furuta.

"Then what would you have me do? Burst into Tsuneyoshi's office guns blazing?" shouts Sasaki. "You hypocrite."

 _Damn_. Ui didn't think Sasaki was capable of being so bitter. Hairu shifts again, biting her lip.

"Why did you leave in the first place?" chokes out Furuta. "Why, if you actually care—you don't care. You just care about being the hero!" He throws his head back, laughing. "And I, I know why you don't care. You are too afraid to face yourself. Well, look: there's a coward in there, a monster, a control freak who won't dare grab the pen of his own story." He steps towards Sasaki, leering. "I know about your car accident. About how you hurt Nagachika Hideyoshi. You blame yourself, and because of that you won't let yourself get close to that pretty waitress even though you love her, because you're a coward, you're a weasely coward. You run when things get difficult. Urie, Yonebayashi, Mutsuki: what do they matter to you anymore now that they're hurting?"

"He was my best friend!" Sasaki shouts. "You try—you've never had friends, so you wouldn't know—"

"And you're a fool," Furuta spits.

"Shut up!" bellows Ui. Hairu jumps. "Enough arguing. We can't—I don't care about your histories. I want to take down this man." He looks at Hairu.

"I'll speak about it," Hairu says, voice shaking. "And how about you, Nimura? Or do you just want to be the coward unable to pull the plank out of your own eye still?"

Sasaki swallows. "I think—Arima wants to protect all the other kids—that's why he hasn't involved you, or even—"

"So he's a coward too," Ui says harshly.

Hirako glances at him, a frown on his lips.

"He's not the first person to know about this," says Hairu. She leans forward, tracing the edge of Ui's desk with her hands. "I think Kanou knows."

"Huh?" Ui glances at her. Furuta's jaw drops.

"He's made comments to me before. About my life," Hairu says. "That imply—he might have an inkling of what Tsuneyoshi is."

Ui blinks. "Would he be willing to talk for an article?"

Hairu shrugs. "You could ask. Like I said, I'm not sure he's much of a better person."

"If the board decides to keep him," says Furuta. "We're all going to be expelled. Well, I'll already be expelled. But you'll join me in the Lack of a Futureland." He snickers.

"I don't care," says Ui, heart thumping. "It's the right thing to do."

Sasaki lowers his head. _What else are you hiding?_ Ui wants to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Akira and Amon have a hard conversation, and Urie confronts Mutsuki.


	19. No Pity Sitting in the Clouds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

_Love sought is good, but giv'n unsought is better_

_Twelfth Night_

* * *

"Let's go to :re," Amon suggests.

Akira nods. She packs all the papers she has to grade in her bag. Lounging in Amon's apartment has mostly been silent. He doesn't want to talk about Donato, and she doesn't know how to talk about her dad. She wishes he could just appear, tell her the truth. Or his ghost. If only she believed in things like mediums, but she doesn't

The ride to :re is silent. Akira sets down her belongings at a small table by the door. She turns to the counter, steeling her nerves to see Kirishima.

Kirishima waves, beaming. Akira smiles and orders a mocha. Amon gets black coffee. Kirishima chatters about how she's excited to go to the concert next month and scolds Amon for not calling Kurona like he promised to do.

The bell above the door chimes. Akira pays for the mocha. Amon waves her away, pulling cash out of his wallet.

Kirishima doesn't take the money. Her eyes widen, and water fills them.

Akira turns.

Sasaki stands there, hair now completely white. Akira bites back a groan. "So it's spreading?"

"Huh?" Sasaki jerks his eyes away from Kirishima.

 _Oops_. Akira's face warms. "The bleached hair. I thought Takizawa was bad enough. You look like you can't decide to be a surfer or a Goth and it's not working."

Kirishima bursts out laughing behind her. "I like her."

Akira smiles. _I… like you too._ How weird.

Sasaki reaches up to pat his hair. He looks to Amon.

"It's not bad," Amon tells him, nodding. Akira cocks an eyebrow. _Liar_.

"What can I get you?" Kirishima asks, grabbing Amon's cash and entering it in the register. She blows out her breath. Akira meets her eyes. She smiles.

"What would you recommend?" Sasaki asks awkwardly as Akira and Amon head back to their table.

"Jilted lover? Ex?" Amon whispers.

"Almost," Akira says, watching them talk. Kirishima looks as if she's barely restraining herself from bashing Kaneki's head against the counter. And Akira knows how she felt. She sees the pinched lips, the crinkles around the eyes, and remembers the anxiety threading through her, the guilt, the blame and the fear and— _it was my fault, why you left, wasn't it?_

If only. If only. If only.

Amon stiffens. He nods, clearly understanding what Akira means.

"Why didn't you see me?" Kirishima erupts. "Was it because of what happened with Mado, or—"

Akira jumps up. Amon shrinks in his seat. Sasaki lowers his head.

"I needed you," Kirishima says. "I wanted you, and you weren't here."

Akira knows those lines by heart, though she's never spoken them, though she's never even allowed her conscious thoughts to form them. Her eyes sting.

"Because of you," Akira says.

"Huh?" Amon looks to her in alarm. Sasaki gapes. Kirishima looks almost offended.

"You didn't go to her," Akira says. "Because of you." Her voice catches. "It wasn't because of you, Kirishima. He made his own choices."

"It's true," Amon admits. "I did."

Sasaki gulps. "I was—"

"Afraid of meeting me?" asks a voice from the backroom. It's muffled, almost robotic, and Amon looks as if he wants to disappear into the glass of the window.

Sasaki freezes. Nagachika Hideyoshi emerges from the backroom, a scarf covering his face.

"You could have asked me," says Hide. "I would have said it was okay. That I still wanted you.'

Sasaki trembles.

"Kaneki," says Hide.

Akira rubs her head. _What?_

"Why?" Kirishima asks Kaneki.

Akira gulps her mocha. It's so easy to pretend everything is fine. When you have what you want, what you lost, when it returns, to cling to it, to hold it tight and never let it go.

It was all she wanted, for so long, but she never allowed herself to dream that Amon or Takizawa would come back. But they did. And her father's memory turned from a benevolent grave to a relentless ghost haunting her.

Amon puts his hand on her shoulder. She leans back against him, closing her eyes. Tears slip down her cheeks. When she opens them, she sees Sasaki in Hide's arms. An embrace.

"Apologize," Akira whispers. "Apologize. You hurt them." But Sasaki—Kaneki—whoever—can't hear.

"I was so lonely," Kirishima says. "You weren't the only one who was lonely."

Sasaki gulps, peeling away from Hide. And Kirishima reaches for him, and she kisses him.

"Well," comments Amon, a smile on his face. Akira shakes her head, but her heart lifts too.

"I'm sorry," whispers Sasaki, and then she kisses again.

"I'm sorry too," says Hide. "Because I had a choice. I could have gone—I could have talked to you." He gulps. "I was talking to a girl at your school—Yonebayashi—and she was describing what she's going through, and I—"

"Time to go," Akira whispers. She gathers her books and marches out the door, turning the sign to _closed_. Amon gives a wry smile.

"Wow," says Amon in the car. "I'm—glad that seemed to work out for them."

"Me too," Akira says. She turns the keys in the ignition.

"Are—" Amon clears his throat. "Are you—Tsuenyoshi asked me to give a message at the memorial. About your father. And to ask you to do it as well. Just a brief—"

"He wasn't killed in the explosion," Akira says automatically. Her fingers tighten around the steering wheel. She bites her lip.

"I know." Amon's silent.

"If it's true—" Akira begins, and her voice cracks. _I want to remember him. I want to honor him._

_But not like this._

_What do I do? What do I do?_ She slows for a red light, gulping back tears. Everywhere she turns, there's a memory of her father. The curry restaurant on the left, the one he used to take her to on Fridays. The fancy one across town, for special occasions like recitals. The bench on campus. The memorial. The man next to her. Only when she plays her cello can she lose herself in the music, let it cloud her mind and cover the silent ghost she can't escape.

"I don't know," says Amon, quietly.

"I need to talk to Fueguchi, don't I?" Akira asks, taking a turn.

Amon presses his lips together. "Yeah."

"And what are you going to do?" Akira asks. "If it's true? If she says that it's true?"

"It doesn't change the good influence he had on my life, but of course—" Amon sucks in his breath. "It hurts. He should—if he—"

"What about Donato?" Akira asks, pulling into the parking lot. Tree branches sway in the wind. "What about him? What about the good, and the bad, from him?" _Show me, Amon. Show me what to do_.

 _I'm so scared_. She hates feeling this weak.

"I'm here," Amon tells her, wrapping his arms around her. "I love you, Akira." His voice crumples, and she knows he knows she knows.

Akira's chest heaves. She squeezes her eyes shut. "I love you too." She pulls back, gulping and looking up at him, eyes streaming, desperate— _let me cling—let me go_ —"Do you plan to stay here? After you finish?"

Amon sucks in his breath.

"Is that what you want?" she asks.

"What do _you_ want, Akira?" Amon asks, turning to her. He brushes a strand of blond hair out of her eyes. "What you want matters to." His thumb wipes her cheek.

"I want—" She struggles to articulate it. It doesn't feel like a meaningless blob in her mind though, but rather it forms a concrete vision. She swallows. "I want to get away from him. I love him, and I'm a selfish, terrible daughter—but if he did that—I want to be known for my own merits. I want to be a cellist who's more than Mado Kureo's daughter." And that doesn't even just apply to what she's learned about him recently.

Isn't that what she's always wanted?

Amon nods. "You are a good cellist. All on your own. His daughter or not. You have the skill, and the talent, and the will. You'll make it."

"And you?" Akira asks. Her voice shakes. They both know what he's going to say.

"I want to stay here," Amon says. "I felt safe here, for the first time in my life. Even if it was an illusion. I want to make it better here. I want to take down Tsuneyoshi. I already emailed Ui about meeting with him tomorrow."

"I'm proud of you," Akira manages.

He cups his hand around the nape of her neck. "I'm proud of you, too, Akira." His lips brush her forehead. He pulls back and looks at her.

"I love you," Akira says again. "And I can't give you what you want."

"I love you," Amon says. "And… same." He reaches out and squeezes her hand.

Her lungs shudder. Akira nods, and extracts her hand from Amon's. She opens the car door. The wind scrapes cold against her wet cheeks.

"See you," Amon tells her.

She looks over her shoulder and nods. "You, too."

* * *

He drifts in and out of sleep. He goes to class, sometimes, but he can't understand a word the professors are saying. He has a concert and he hasn't practiced, and he skips the next rehearsal even though he knows Furuta certainly won't show up again.

Mutsuki wraps his arms around himself, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow again. Saiko and Urie keep visiting. He doesn't know why.

Maybe it would have been better if Saeki had killed him.

There's another knock on the door. Mutsuki throws the covers off. "Yeah?"

It cracks open. Suzuya Juuzou peeps in. "Can I come in, Tooru?"

Mutsuki shrugs. "Sure."

Juuzou shuts the door behind him. He hesitates and then pulls it open, leaving it cracked. He tosses a bag of M&Ms at Mutsuki. "Chocolate is the cure."

Mutsuki snorts. There's no cure for him, but it's sweet of Juuzou.

"I miss you in musicology," says Juuzou, plopping down on the bed next to Mutsuki. He holds his hands up to the light, red threads marking his skin.

"Why do you do that?" Mutsuki can't help but ask.

"This?" Juuzou points to the threads on his throat. Mutsuki nods. Juuzou reaches for the candy and opens the bag, holding it out to Mutsuki, who gingerly takes a few pieces. "I don't know. Well, I do know. That's actually what I came here to talk to you about."

Mutsuki frowns. "Will you teach me?"

"No." Juuzou shakes his head wildly. "You're not allowed to start that."

Mutsuki arches his eyebrows.

"Look, I know you killed the cat," says Juuzou.

Mutsuki feels as if Juuzou dropped a bucket of acid over him.

"If you killed your family, well, I don't know," says Juuzou. "But I killed, too."

The candies turn to stones in Mutsuki's mouth. He almost chokes. "Wh-what?"

"I was raised by this—well, she was a person who sold people," says Juuzou. "And she had me hurt people for her when she didn't like them." He looks directly at Mutsuki, red eyes clear. "She hated men. She didn't want me to become one, so she—made sure that I wouldn't develop. I was rescued when I was twelve."

Mutsuki gulps. _I killed them when I was twelve._

_I hate men, too. But not you. Or Urie. Or Shirazu. Or Sasaki… but he still hasn't come to see me._

"Shinohara was the only person who reached out to me," says Juuzou. "Everyone else wrote me off." He plays with the threads running down his wrist. "I don't know where I'd be without him. Not here."

"I'm sorry," whispers Mutsuki. The world still took him away, didn't it? Because the world is cruel, and it's wrong. Shinohara died in that explosion.

"He died saving me," says Juuzou. "Well, sort of. We were together. I was waiting him because he was going to take me to dinner with his family after the meeting." He yanks up one of the legs of his pants, and Mutsuki sees a metal leg.

His eyes widen. He had no idea. The air feels chilled. Mutsuki wraps the blanket around himself.

"And I can't even visit him in the hospital," Juuzou whispers. "I just want him—I want to make him proud."

Mutsuki swallows. "I'm sure you are." He thinks of Sasaki. Tears fill his eyes.

Juuzou's hand lands on Mutsuki's shoulder. "I started dating Hanbee recently."

Mutsuki's mouth opens. "Wow. I'm—glad for you." He again thinks of Sasaki.

"He's going to visit—we're going to see Shinohara," says Juuzou. "The day of the concert. I think—I want to read him what I'm going to say about him." Juuzou's voice trembles. "And say goodbye. He isn't—he's not going to wake up. At least, I don't think he is, or I can't keep—I can't keep thinking that I can tell him things when he does. I still want him to, but—" His voice catches.

 _You're moving on. How?_ Mutsuki huddles, resting his head on his knees. Juuzou shoves more candy at him. Mutsuki takes some.

"It's strange," says Juuzou, holding up his hand again, splaying his fingers as he peers at it. "I didn't know what love was, until Shinohara. And now I have Hanbee, and also my other friends, and you."

"Me?" Mutsuki echoes.

Juuzou casts him a smile. "I think the best way for me to honor Shinohara is for me to be for you what he was for me. He wouldn't have condemned you because he didn't condemn me. And I think your life is worth living, and I'm going to slash Saeki's tires after I put a rock through his windshield."

Mutsuki can't help but laugh. "Kirishima Ayato already got people from :re to burn it."

"Yeah. I'm talking about the rental car." Juuzou hops up. "I have a date now, but. I want to see you in class tomorrow. And I want to meet up for coffee tomorrow night so we can go over stuff, okay?"

It's not just up to Sasaki. The realization punches Mutsuki in the gut. Maybe there is hope he can be loved beyond Sasaki. Juuzou. And Urie and Saiko.

"Keep the candy!" Juuzou calls. "You're too thin. And also? Call me or text me anytime. Ask for what you need." And then he leaves.

Mutsuki sits there, fiddling with the edge of the candy wrapper. No one's ever told him to ask for what he needs. It usually leads to disaster. He hears the floorboards creaking and peers out his door. Juuzou slinks away from Urie's room.

_Urie?_

Mutsuki hesitates, and then marches to Urie's room. He knocks on the door.

"Yeah?" Urie's pouring over his textbooks.

"Sorry," Mutsuki says quickly. "I didn't mean to bother you." He chickens out, fear pecking at his hands as he turns.

"No, no you're not!" Urie calls, shutting his laptop. "I mean, you're really not, Mutsuki. Come in."

Mutsuki does. And he shuts the door and drops onto Urie's bed. He stares at Shirazu's bedding on the other side of the room. "I miss him."

"Me too," Urie says. He sighs.

"Thanks for taking care of me," Mutsuki says awkwardly.

Urie gulps. His eyes dart around the room, landing on Shirazu's shark-shaped alarm clock. "I'm your RA."

Mutsuki nods, twisting his sweater.

"And your friend," Urie mumbles.

Mutsuki snorts. "Is that so hard to admit?"

"I'm not embarrassed of it," Urie snaps. "If that's what you were implying."

"I wasn't."

Urie'e eyes widen and he sucks his lips in. "Shit. No, Mutsuki—that's not what I meant. I—you are a good friend. I care about you. I'm happy to have you as a friend."

"Really?" asks Mutsuki, leaning his head against the wall. "Are you really, Urie Kuki? Even though I suck? Even though—" He wrings his shirt. "I'm a murderer?"

"I don't think you're just a murderer," says Urie. "I think you're sick. And I think—you're—a friend and—" He drops the pen he's been tapping against the desk and curses.

"Am I a burden?"

"No!"

"Then why does Sasaki still avoid me?" asks Mutsuki, looking at Urie.

Urie blinks. His lips curl in a sneer. "Why does he matter?"

"Because—" Mutsuki doubles over, balling his fists. "Because he's the first person who ever—believed the best of me—was kind to me—seemed like he wanted to help me—"

"Well, bullshit!" Urie snarls. He gets to his feet, raking his hands through his hair. "I've seen the worst of you and I—I still—I'm still here. If he thinks the worst of you makes you unworthy, then he's a piece of shit and I hope he chokes."

"Urie!" Mutsuki leaps to his feet. He's horrified. And at the same time, his mind churns, Urie's words swirling around,

"I'm here," Urie says. "Saiko and me, we're here—Hsiao, Hige, and Aura—don't we matter?" His voice cracks. "I know I'm not Sasaki, but—we're—"

"What are you trying to say, Kuki?" Mutsuki ekes out. He grips the bed frame with one hand and his shirt with the other.

Urie exhales. His cheeks turn bright red. "You know what I'm saying."

"It's not enough," says Mutsuki, his heart pounding. "You need to say it. Why are you so determined to be there for me? Is it just because I'm someone you can save, unlike your father, or—"

"I want to be there for you because I love you!" Urie shouts. He curls up his fists. "Goddammit!"

Mutsuki freezes. His breath catches. "Like—like—you have family?" Because it's all he's ever wanted. A family. He watched cartoons of families as a kid, sometimes, before his father dragged him by the hair and threw him to the ground for existing.

Urie cringes. "No."

_Huh?_

"I'm in love with you," Urie mumbles, dropping his head. He kicks the chair. "And I—you showed me kindness—no one would have—you're—"

"Why?" Mutsuki demands, his voice shaking. "Why would you—why—"

Urie looks up, meeting his eyes. His are wet. "Because I want to show one ounce of the compassion you showed me one day."

"I'm awful," Mutsuki counters, shaking his head. "You—I told you what I did. To the cat, to my family—"

Urie grits his teeth. "I don't see you that way." He sucks in his breath. Mutsuki drops his head. "I'm sorry."

"Why not?" Mutsuki screams. "What do you see me as? Just something you can—"

"You're a person!" Urie shouts back. "You're a goddamn person, T—Mutsuki, and I—you matter, no matter what you've done! You saved me and—you hurt your family and I—can't save you—but I want to be with you. If I can help you, I—if you want me to—" His face caves in. He's crying.

_Over me._

No, not over him. _For me_.

"Tooru," Urie says. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hit you that day. I'm sorry I made you feel unsafe. I'm sorry I've avoided you—it's not your fault. It's mine. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Tooru, I'm sorry."

Mutsuki frowned.

"You don't owe me anything," Urie says. "If you'd like me to be around you, to help you—please just let me know. You're not a burden. And you're not a thing."

Mutsuki blinks. He holds his hands in front of him, staring at the skin covering the bones. He remembers all the nights Urie's spent on his floor, sacrificing his back and his sleep just to be near Mutsuki. "Th-thank you."

Urie nods.

Mutsuki hesitates, and then he steps up to Urie. He looks into his eyes. _You mean it._

_You love me._

Mutsuki leans down and presses his lips against Urie's. He doesn't break through. Just a quick kiss, lips brushing each other's. His heart pounds as he steps back.

Urie looks shocked. "You don't have to placate me, Tooru."

"I'm not," says Mutsuki. He gulps.

Urie's face turns scarlet again.

 _How can someone want me?_ He doesn't understand. He cries. And Urie holds him, and Mutsuki wilts against him, and Urie's chest shakes and Mutsuki realizes he's crying too, crying for Mutsuki, and Mutsuki doesn't want him to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Ui lectures Hairu on carrots and Arima on Rize, and Seidou tells Akira two truths.


	20. Though This Be Madness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

"Do you think this is going to go anywhere?" Hairu wonders, lounging in Ui's apartment. She's dressed in scanty pajamas and flopped over on his couch, crunching a carrot.

"It has to," Ui manages, rubbing his temples as he stares at the screen. "Furuta was expelled today."

"Not shocking," Hairu remarks. "Ugh. Carrots are gross."

"Hairu, they're the candy of vegetables," Ui retorts, massaging the back of his neck. A carrot pings off his forehead. "Ow!"

She sits up, crossing her legs underneath herself and pulling out her laptop. "Time to do work."

Ui gives her a thumbs up. He mutters to himself as he tries to consider what he'll say to Arima when he meets with him tomorrow. _The jig is up?_ That's what Furuta suggested and for that reason Ui wants to steer far clear from that. "What are the chances he fires me?" Ui wonders aloud, poking a pen cap into his cheek.

Hairu scowls. "He better not."

"I wouldn't blame him," Ui says, anxiety tightening its cords around his chest. "Because I went behind his back and I—he can't trust me after that." He lowers his head.

"I still trust you," says Hairu, and he hears her bare feet padding over to him. Her hands descend to his head, pulling his hair back as if she's trying to put it in a ponytail. Her fingers dig into his scalp, pushing out the tension.

Ui snorts. "It's too short for that."

"We'll see. Saiko calls you Professor Bowl Cut, by the way." Hairu kisses the top of his head.

_How do you still want to be with me?_

Hairu's fingers start tugging. Ui yelps. "All set!" Hairu proclaims. She rushes into his bathroom, grabbing a hand mirror— _where did that come from_ —and runs back out to show him.

"If you ever tell anyone about this, I will kill myself," says Ui, staring at his reflection.

Hairu giggles. She pulls Ui's cheeks back into a smile. "You have to smile."

"I do not," he grinds out.

"Yes, you do!" She beams. Ui wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her onto his lap, kissing her. She tastes like carrots and peppermint. She's warm, and he loves her so much, so, so much. His eyes burn.

The door flies open. "Ui, we have a situation—fuck!"

Ui's face swells. He wants to hide. "Hirako!" And of course, Hairu just blinks innocently at him, still straddling Ui in her skimpy pajamas.

"Knock," Ui grinds out. "Next time. _Knock."_

"You're the one who left it unlocked," Hirako chokes out. "Shall I come back?"

"What's the situation?" asks Hairu, smoothing Ui's hair. Which is still in that ridiculous ponytail. _So this is death._

"Uh." Hirako averts his eyes. "Rize. Kamishiro Rize. She's kind of lost it. I don't know if she's upset over Furuta or what, but she's incredibly drunk right now and sitting outside the music building. Sasaki isn't here either. He's out with Kirishima."

Ui curses. Hairu leaps to her feet. "I'm getting my coat!"

"And pants, please," Hirako requests.

"I have shorts on!"

"Not sure those count," Hirako mumbles. Ui yanks the elastic out of his hair. He scrambles to grab his own jacket. Hirako just stares at him, expression as blank as ever.

Ui wants to shake him and scream _react, just react_. "What?" He's still dying. Heat and humiliation crawl through him.

"You're lucky to have her, that's all," Hirako replies.

 _Oh_. Ui blinks. He, Hairu, and Hirako streak across the quad, winding their way towards the music building, where they find Rize passed out beside the entrance, reeking of vodka.

"Oh, Rize," whispers Hairu, crouching down. She grasps Rize's hand.

"Well, she's quiet now," says Hirako. "But with that security guard still on campus—"

"We'll take her," says Hairu. She shakes Rize's arm. "Kamishiro. Wake up. It's Ihei."

Rize just moans. She rolls over, gagging.

"Shit!" Ui kneels, grasping her hair and pulling it away from the muck.

"The fuck are you?" Rize gasps, glaring up at him. Her eyes stream.

"My boyfriend," says Hairu, peering at her.

"I-hei," Rize croaks out. "Lowering yourself to—talk to me? Didn't think tha' would happen."

Hairu's face crumples, and Ui wonders. Does she have things she's ashamed of, too? Is she afraid to tell him? She shouldn't be. He loves her. He loves her.

"I'm sorry," says Hairu. "Let me help you, Rize. We can talk you back to the apartment, or to my dorm—you need to sleep it off."

"Doesn't matter," Rize says with a hiccup. Snot runs down from her nose. Hirako digs in his pockets for a tissue. "'S not gonna matter. My brother—my fucking—he won't even—"

 _Without Furuta, he's all you have left_.

 _Maybe you did care about Furuta. But his objectifying you—thinking of you as an object to be saved—that's what turned you against him_. It reminded Rize too much of Tsuneyoshi. Ui gulps. "I'm going to call him." He gets to his feet.

Hairu's jaw drops. "Koori—"

Ui shakes his head. He marches away from Rize, dialing. No answer. He'll keep calling until he gets a response. Again. And again. And again. And again—

"What?" Arima finally answers. "Ui, is everything okay? I was working on—"

"No," Ui interrupts. "It isn't okay. Your sister's sick, Arima. Very sick. And she has been for awhile, and she's collapsed outside the music building because she just wants to see you and you—you're not there, but even if you were, would it matter?" His voice scrapes his throat. "Would it matter?" _Go ahead and fire me. I don't care. At least let me do this one thing right._

"How do you know about that?" Arima asks, voice quiet.

"Hairu is my girlfriend," Ui snaps.

"C'mon, Rize," Hairu says in the background. She eases Rize into a sitting position, slinging her arm around her shoulders. "We'll get you to Arima."

"I'm on my way," says Arima.

"If you yell at her, I'll—" Ui cuts himself off. A rustle sounds off to the side. Expecting to see that bastard security guard, he turns, but instead he just catches a glimpse of a pink coat.

Arima hangs up. Ui cusses. He returns to Rize, who rocks back and forth, singing a ditty. Hairu smoothes her hair.

"He's—shamed of me," mumbles Rize. "K-Kishou."

"I'm sure that's not true," Hairu insists.

 _I'm pretty sure it is_. Ui bites his lip.

Footsteps sound. Ui glances up. _Fuck_. Now it really is that security guard. Both of them. Tokage, and Saeki. It's so fucking ironic they have to be protected from security guards.

"What's going on?" calls Tokage, shining his flashlight. Rize moans.

"Nothing," calls Hairu.

"Seriously, it's nothing," Ui says. "Bad breakup."

"Looks like drunken—"

"Try to drag her back to security and write her up," Hirako threatens, stepping in front of Rize. "I swear to God I will rip your arms off."

 _Damn_. Ui's impressed. He stands shoulder to shoulder with Hirako, blocking Hairu and Rize from view.

Tokage's lips curl in a snarl. "Threatening—"

"I know what you are," Ui says quietly. "And I hope you get what's coming to you. Both of you." More rustling.

More footsteps now, too. "Is there a problem?" calls Arima's voice.

"Not at all, sir," says Saeki quickly. He pulls Tokage away. Ui turns to glare at Arima. _See what your negligence could have let happen?_

Arima's eyes widen behind his glasses. He curses.

"I don' wanna hear it," mumbles Rize. "You fucker."

Ui nods. Arima deserves that. Even if he's been working with Sasaki.

"Come here, Rize," says Arima. Hairu helps her stand, and Arima holds her up. "You're coming back to my place to sleep it off."

"You 'spelled him," murmurs Rize, swaying. "An' now he's gone. Just like—everyone."

"I'm here," says Arima.

She laughs, a sloppy sounds smacking the air. " _Are_ you?"

Arima doesn't react, but he helps her take a step. "Thanks," Arima calls over his shoulder to them.

Ui doesn't say anything as they wander away. He turns to Hirako. "How could you have left her to get us?"

"He didn't," calls a voice from the trees. Ui whirls. He sees Hoito Roma, her boyfriend, and the rest of the drama club spilling out from the trees. "Furuta asked us to watch over her."

"You're creepy," Ui informs them.

Roma giggles. Ui wraps his arm around Hairu and heads back to the apartment. Hairu's quiet. "Are you okay?"

"No," Hairu finally says as Ui shuts the door behind them, locking it for good measure.

"Are you thinking about—Tsuneyoshi?"

Hairu shrugs, wiping at her eyes. "Arima—didn't seem like much of a hero."

 _Still? Still Arima?_ Ui drops onto the couch next to her. He hangs his head.

"Kanou knows," Hairu says finally. "About Tsuneyoshi. He's mentioned it enough times. He hates Tsuneyoshi. I've heard him say it multiple times." She pulls her knees to her chest. "Why—why has no one done anything?"

 _He knows_? Ui wants to deck Kanou. Fury burns warm in his stomach.

"Why didn't I do anything?" Hairu whispers.

"You're twenty-one, Hairu. That's pretty young," Ui says, ignoring the guilt he feels over her age. "And you're doing something now."

Hairu gulps. "You don't hate me for it?"

Ui shakes his head.

Hairu leans her head back against him. "Koori, I love you."

Ui freezes. "What?"

Hairu doesn't even open her eyes. "I love you," she repeats, as if it isn't the most beautiful thing he's ever heard.

_She loves me?_

_Hairu loves me._

"I love you," he croaks.

Hairu's eyes fly open. She frowns. "Are you crying, Koori?"

"No."

"Liar." She gets to her knees and presses her forehead against his, green eyes boring into his. "I love you. Even if you say words like 'vivacious' during sex."

Ui wheezes. "I wanted to make sure you believed me!"

Hairu snickers.

He takes her face in his hands. "You're worth so much more than anything they ever treated you like—you're worth everything to me."

* * *

Akira pulls out her phone and checks her email. She zips her jacket as she heads out of the music building. She freezes.

An email.

From one of the schools she applied to. _Isn't it early?_

Akira curses. She glances all around her, watching kids mill around the quad. She opens the email, unable to breath. Her fingers shake. Air aches in her lungs.

_Congratulations…_

Akira lets out a gasp. She swallows and keeps reading. _I got in. I got in._

 _Fuck it._ She pulls out her phone and texts both Amon and Takizawa. She races back to her apartment. Sasaki waves. Akira grabs his arm. "I got into a DMA program!"

Saskai's jaw drops. "That's wonderful!"

She nods, racing off. Blue patches of sky claw through the gray. She bursts into the building.

 _CONGRATULATIONS,_ Amon texts her.

Akira blinks. She fumbles to draw her keys out of her purse. Her eyes burn. She shoves the door open and throws her phone down on the couch. Akira grabs Maris Stella and buries her face in the cat. Tears prick her eyes, but they refuse to fall and just burn, burn, burn inside her skull. She rocks back and forth.

_Daddy, I want to go for curry with you._

_Daddy, where are you?_

_Daddy, who were you?_

Amon would certainly take her for curry if she wanted. She knows he would, even though they're broken up and have been for a week. Akira leans back against her couch. She screams into the fabric. Maris Stella hisses and scampers off.

Someone knocks at the door. Akira cusses and drags herself to her feet. If it's Amon—

It isn't. It's Seidou.

"Congratulations!" he says. He holds out a container to her. "Uh. Amon said to give you curry to celebrate."

Akira throws her head back, blond hair cascading. _Of course he did._ She laughs, a hollow sound.

"Shit," says Seidou, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, should I come back? Should I call a priest to exorcise you?"

Akira shakes her head. She gestures for him to come in and shuts the door. "I just—miss him."

"Your dad?" Seidou asks, wringing his hands. "Or Amon?"

Akira manages a smile. "Both." She grabs some chopsticks. "I'll ask him to come."

"He said he wouldn't," Seidou says, holding out his phone so she can read the texts. Akira grits her teeth. Amon told Seidou, she presumes, but she doesn't know how much he told him.

They eat in silence at first. Then Seidou tries to engage her in discussion about her program. She points out she's still waiting to hear from others, though this place is her top choice. But she doesn't want to talk about it further. But...

"Sorry," Seidou says finally, putting the curry bowl down.

"Why?" Akira asks, the spice stinging a cut on her tongue. "Not everything is your fault."

He meets her eyes. "Do you wanna talk about it? I mean, I'm not a great listener, but I'm just curious. Or—if you want to talk, I'll do my best. You know. To listen."

Akira snorts. "Nothing really happened." She stirs her curry, spices mixing in her bowl. "We just—it wasn't right. It would have been. Years ago. But since…" She draws in her breath. It sticks in her lungs. "We have different goals."

Seidou nods, gripping his knees.

"I felt… he was too focused on himself to see me," Akira blurts out. She sees her father again, sees his bench, his grave, in her mind. She can't remember what his voice sounded like anymore. "I thought that maybe if he was what I wanted him to be I wouldn't feel like this. I thought I'd feel differently."

_He's not you, Dad._

_How messed up am I?_

"I feel so empty," she whispers. And Amon—he said he'd help her fill that emptiness. He'd support her. But in the end, she wanted him to fix her. And he wanted to fix her father.

"You're not empty," says Seidou.

Akira snorts. "I feel that way."

"Oh." Seidou blows out his breath. A tuft of hair lifts. "You're more than your father, you know. And you're more than Amon, and you're more than what you mean to them. You're more than your cello, and you're more than—" He cuts himself off, thumping his fingers on his thighs as if he's said too much.

"To _you?"_ Akira asks, her lips curling.

"No," says Seidou. "For you."

Akira clenches her fists. Her nails dig into her palms. "I thought... when he sent in my recommendations, he spoke about my achievements. Not my dad's. But I still—I had hope he saw me as more than just his daughter, but I—in the end—I still felt like an extension of him." _I want to break free_.

Seidou clears his throat.

She lifts her head. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Don't 'nothing' me," Akira snaps. "That's rude."

He rolls his eyes. "Fine." His hands fly into the air. "I wrote those recommendations. That's how all professors do it. Grad students write that shit for them."

 _You?_ Akira gapes at him. Blood rushes to her face. She doesn't know what to say. _Thank you? Why didn't you tell me?_ The intrusive thought that's banging around inside her skull?

Akira gets to her feet, grabbing her curry bowl and his, and dumping it in the sink. She runs the water, warm. When she speaks, her voice comes thick. "If I told you I'd loved you too, before all of this—you, Amon, everyone—leaving happened, would you be shocked?" Her heart pounds. All she hears is blood in her ears.

And then he snickers. "No. I knew that. I'd just never have admitted it."

Akira's jaw drops. She slams off the tap, turning to look at him. She shakes her head. "Figures."

Seidou throws up his hands. "Sorry I'm shit at knowing what to say. Do you want a drink? Do you need chocolate? Ice cream?"

"Why are you here?" Akira demands. "I want—you to tell me that." Her voice shakes. She can't keep it in any longer. "If you knew how I felt, why didn't you say anything? That's what I want. I want to know the answer to that."

Seidou frowns. He leans back against the wall, white hair long enough to brush his black collar. "You wanted Amon," he says. "And you are capable of figuring out what you want on your own."

_Me._

_Just me._

_Why do you see me? What do you see, when you see me? Who?_

_Me._

_Just me._

Something inside Akira breaks. She doubles over, dropping onto her couch with her head in her hands. Maris Stella mews below her. _I'm not enough._

He puts his hand on her shoulder, and she knows to him, she is.

Akira looks up at him. _Don't go. Don't leave. Not like last time_. Her voice shakes. "What if I said, _Takizawa Seidou, I want you to kiss me?"_

Takizawa's dark eyes pop. He looks as if he's about to keel over. He clears his throat. He withdraws his hand. It's cold. "Me or Amon?"

Fury courses through that same crack inside her. She leaps to her feet. "You're so—fucking—blind when it comes to yourself! I like you. It's not because I feel guilty or I feel lonely—Furuta wasn't wrong. I do love you. I love Amon too—I always will—but he's—we're not—stop talking about Amon. I want to talk about you!" _And I don't want to be alone._

Takizawa raises his hands.

"Sorry," whispers Akira, shame inside her. "Why can't you believe you're good enough? It's what you want. And yet you look at me like I'm a liar when I—" _Believe in yourself. So I can believe in myself._ She sees a mirror inside him, glistening in his eyes.

"Well, if you aren't the pot calling the kettle black," quips Seidou. "You're still afraid to leave your father's shadow. That's what this is all about."

Akira clutches her head. "You're—so annoying!"

"You're infuriating."

"Yeah?" Akira demands, stepping up to him. "Tell me more. Tell me, Takizawa Seidou."

"Fine," he snaps. "It's all you want—to get away from your father's legacy, and that's why you applied to schools elsewhere—and yet when you get the chance you feel guilty, and you get too upset because you keep thinking about him and clinging to the idea of him and you won't let yourself mourn for him. No matter how many times you play that cello, Mado Akira, no matter how well you play it, you're never going to bring him back to life!"

Akira freezes. Tears slip down her face. And yet. And yet. If he apologizes, she'll kick him in the balls.

"I want you to just do what you actually want to do," he whispers.

_What I want to do?_

_I want to travel. I want to be known as a cellist, as Mado Akira, not Mado Kureo's daughter. And I don't want to waste any more time chained down._

_You see me that way._

Akira swallows. "What if I _actually_ want you to kiss me?"

Takizawa's face grays. He steps closer. She lowers her head. "Sorry." He won't. But she does want it. _Why am I so messed up?_ It's not fair to Amon, but...

He grabs her chin. Her stomach drops. He turns her towards him, and then his lips press down against hers. His mouth tastes like curry. Akira wraps her arm around his neck, and she remembers him glaring at her when she beat him on every exam.

_You thought I was too good for you, didn't you? And you resented that._

_I was never too good for you._

_I'm a person. So are you. And you see me_.

Akira runs her hands down his sides. He shudders. His hands grip her shoulders, her waist. The sunlight glows orange outside, red. The counter digs into her back. He reaches down and hoists her up.

And then they're in her bedroom, and Akira's pulling off her shirt, and his, and they still can't say anything. They pant. Sweat prickles on Akira's scalp. She shrugs out of her jeans, helping Takizawa out of his.

_Really? So soon?_

Akira ignores that voice. She kneels, meeting his lips as they crouch on her bed.

And then he pushes her away.

"Huh?" Akira rasps. Takizawa leans back on his hands. His cheeks burn red. His skin glows with sweat. The abs he's clearly worked for glisten.

But he shakes his head. "Not—now. Not right."

"Huh?" Akira whispers. "I—"

"We should slow down."

Akira looks down at him. "Really? Even though something's up?"

He snorts, but shifts to cover himself so that his body's reaction is less obvious. "I know you want to. So—do I. But I don't want to be your backup option, Akira." His fingers reach out to brush her face. "You deserve more than a backup option. I'm just a fantasy to you right now. Being with me isn't going to take your problems away. It's not going to end your emptiness. You'd be happy with me but then a few months later you might wish you were with Amon again."

His words slap her. Akira flinches. She doesn't know what to say. A million snarky, angry barbs pop into her mind, and yet she can't force herself to say them. She's bleeding out. She's empty.

_Help me._

_It's not fake. I do love you._

"You know," she says, voice shaking. "If you just didn't know how to touch a boob, you could just say."

Takizawa's jaw drops.

"I'll wait," Akira says, thrusting his pants at him, and his shirt. She sits there, still in her underwear, as he dresses. "Until you're ready. Even if you never are—you better keep in touch with me in my DMA program. If even Amon is—"

Takizawa rolls his eyes. "I will." He swallows.

He leaves. Maris Stella hops onto the bed, and Akira cradles her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Urie is awkward and Ui exchanges heated words with Arima.


	21. To Thine Own Self Be True

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Sorry about the wait.

"Do you want me to go with you?" asks Hairu the next evening.

Ui shakes his head. He wants to confront Arima on his own. Especially after last night. He puffs on a cigarette as he makes his way across campus to Arima's office. He dumps the cigarette, grinding it out before he enters the building.

When he first applied to a DMA program here, he wanted to work with Arima. Arima was the best in the country. Even his parents knew of Arima and respected him. And to find out he's just a coward, in the worst possible way to be a coward…

Ui knocks. Arima calls for him to come in, and Ui enters. Shame and anger both stir within him, one cold and the other steaming, setting his stomach undulating.

"You reek of smoke," Arima informs him.

That does it. Burning rage shoots through him. Ui glares. "Your sister—"

"She's okay," Arima says, adjusting a stack of papers on his desk. Glasses slide down his nose. He isn't perfect after all. "Have a seat."

"No, and no, she's not, and you know it," Ui shoots back.

Arima frowns. He turns his monitor off. Finally. But too little, too late.

"How could you let her spiral like that?" Ui demands. "How—I know about Tsuneyoshi, I know about you, I know about Hairu—and no, she didn't tell me, Furuta did—I know about what he did to your sister—"

"I could kill him for that," Arima states, voice icy.

Ui stops. His heart hammers inside his chest.

"I despise that man," Arima says. "The way he treated my mother—the way he treats Rize and Yusa and all the kids—he's an evil man. Yoshitoki is the one who keeps Rize here in school. He threatened to go to the press if Ysuneyoshi threw her out."

"So he's a goddamn coward too," Ui spits. "You are. You _are_."

Arima grits his teeth. Sunlight pours in behind him, faded and gray. "I'm trying to—"

"What? Trying to do what? I know what you're doing with Sasaki, and I—"

"There are dire factors you don't understand—"

"I know that he's a predator who lets predators roam all over this campus! Isn't that dire enough?" Ui shoots back. "She's your _sister_."

"Is this about Rize or about Hairu?" asks Arima.

Ui could deck him. He drops into the chair. "You don't treat anyone like they matter. Hairu—she just wants you to care about her."

"But she has you. You're dating. Even if I hadn't seen the two of you last night it was rather obvious, Ui, and I'm happy for you."

"Don't change the subject!" Ui feels like he's being lectured by his father yet again. Flames erupt. _I'm worth something. I'll make the world a better place. I have to. I won't be like you._ "She wanted praise from you. You're the one she looked up to as a kid—how could you do this to everyone who—"

"To you?" Arima bites his lip. "Ui, I'm doing what I can. You don't understand everything."

"Then tell me."

"I can't."

"But you'll tell Sasaki?" Ui throws his head back and laughs, a bleak sound cracking the air.

"Ui, I know who caused the explosion," Arima states. "So does Sasaki. That car accident—he wanted to stop it. But it was too late. But we don't have proof. The person wanted to hurt my father. They wanted to kill Tsuneyoshi. Except he left the meeting early. They didn't give a damn about who else they hurt." Arima rises. "Your zeal is commendable, but Rize is my sister. I grew up in that environment. I'm the oldest of his bastard children that he acknowledges, anyways. Rize is not stable enough to handle a trial or to report what happened. If you put restrictions on Rize she'll chew through them. She doesn't trust anyone in the world and why would she?" Arima's voice shakes. Cloud pass by outside, masking the light. "I love my sister. I want to protect her, and I—couldn't. Forcing her to suffer more for the sake of something right—it would kill her. I can't do that. Because I love her. I want Tsuneyoshi to face justice and my sister to be okay, and I'm not willing to choose one over the other. I choose both."

"Yeah, and in the meantime, she's going to die," Ui ekes out. Now cold shudders through him. "I've been working with Furuta. To take you down."

Arima freezes.

A chill races down Ui's spine as they stare at each other. Ui finally tears his gaze away, dropping it to his lap where he wrings his hands. "Everyone—wants to be you—and you're—you're—"

"Awful," Arima says. "I know that, Ui Koori."

Ui lifts his head, shame still pooling inside him, sticky and sharp, scraping at his insides.

"I let him get away with too much," says Arima. "But he was my father. For all intents and purposes."

_You wanted his approval._

"But then he hurt my sister," Arima adds. "I'll never forgive myself." He looks at Ui. "Ui, I don't blame you. You—you treat Hairu like a princess. I've seen it." A small smile breaks through his lips. "You're no coward, Ui Koori."

 _I am, though_. Ui knows it. He should have talked to Hairu himself instead of going after Arima.

"Yoohoo," says a voice from the doorway. Ui jumps. "'Tis I."

Eto flounces into the room, stopping to grin at them both. "I heard from Sasaki you might be in need of a writer with links to major news sources."

"What?" demands Arima. "How did you—"

"Well, I might be able to help out," says Eto. "If you want, you know. Unless you want to wait until after the concert in two weeks to protect everyone's sweet memories of everyone who died and not cast a shadow of scandal over the event. You know. As one last gift for Daddy Dearest." Her voice drips with disdain. "Sasaki came and told me."

Ui grips the arms of his chair.

Arima cringes. "It has to be before."

"Hm?" Eto cocks her head.

"It has to be before," Arima says.

"I know," says Eto. "Sasaki—Kaneki—gave me a list of people to interview. Including you. Rize won't be mentioned." She crosses her arms. "You know, you could have just asked me in the first place, Kishou."

 _Kishou?_ Ui almost chokes.

"Reach out to people instead of being all 'woe is me,'" Eto informs him. "It's not cute."

Ui's head spins. He hopes Arima doesn't kiss Eto right then and there. But he wouldn't be shocked.

Eto rolls her eyes. Because clearly, Arima is still more oblivious than Hairu was. _How_.

And he still wonders what Arima meant when he said he knew who caused the explosion. If Arima truly does know, then the right thing to do would be to tell them. Even if he doesn't have proof. _Do something. Don't try to do it all on your own._

But Arima's turned back to his computer, waking up the monitor.

* * *

"Oh, finally," sighs Saiko when she sees Urie's arm around Mutsuki as they reenter the Chateau.

"Huh?" Urie glares. He still can't believe Mutsuki kissed him. Just the once, but he's held Urie's hand since. But he's still scared, and Urie doesn't want him to be. He walked Mutsuki back from his counseling appointment, which he finally made. They're discussing medications to manage his disorder.

Saiko shrugs and whistles, clasping her hands behind her back. Hsiao smiles. Mutsuki flushes.

"We're getting chocolate and then going to practice," Urie says. Mutsuki's behind, since he didn't attend the last rehearsal.

Saiko gives a thumbs up and flops back on the couch, head lolling on Hsiao's lap.

In his room, Urie grabs the chocolate, the one with caramel inside, that he bought Mutsuki out of his desk drawer. He pauses, finding Mutsuki staring at Shirazu's cluttered desk.

"Didn't feel right to move any of it," Urie says, voice thick.

Mutsuki nods. He approaches the desk, hand outstretched for the papers strewn on it. He withdraws.

"I miss him," Urie says roughly.

"Me, too," says Mutsuki quietly.

"He would have known what to do," Urie says. "I suck at it."

Mutsuki looks over his shoulder. "Sometimes." He reaches out again.

Urie leaps at him, but Mutsuki's fingers already clamp down on one of the papers. He pulls it out from the stack. He snorts.

"What?" Urie asks. _Why did you move it? Now I can't pretend—I can't—_

Mutsuki turns, holding the printed photograph out. It's of them. All four of them. A selfie Shirazu took with Saiko grinning and jumping at the camera to block Shirazu's face, Mutsuki laughing, and him in the background with his mouth in a flat line.

Urie's gaze travels to the bulletin board above Shirazu's desk, the one with pictures of Haru tacked on it. He gulps. A tack pokes through the top of the photo.

"I guess he was planning to put it up," Mutsuki muses.

Urie nods. He can't speak. _I'm in there?_

"I almost feel like you are family," Mutsuki whispers. "I don't—"

Urie's first instinct is to scoff. But he won't do that. And he thinks of Saiko, and Hsiao and Higemaru, even Aura, and his father's grave and the memorial concert.

He nods.

They head outside together, towards the music building. Someone calls his name.

Urie turns. Washuu Matsuri waves at him. He grimaces.

"Don't worry," says Mutsuki. "Go. You can listen to me practice piano in a little bit."

Urie scowls. "Will you practice?"

"Yeah," says Mutsuki. "You'll listen, whenever you get there." He disentangles his hand from Urie's.

Urie turns to Matsuri. "Yes?"

Matsuri's eyes follow Mutsuki. "You seem awfully close."

"Well, yeah," Urie says. "We're dating." Kind of. He hasn't exactly clarified. He should do that.

His stomach turns over and over with the thought of asking Mutsuki to be his boyfriend. Acid gnaws. What if Mutsuki says no?

Matsuri's face caves in, and Urie's shocked _. Wait—did you—do you—there's no way!_ "Well," he says. "That's—good." His voice sounds tinny. "But I wanted to discuss what you'll say at the memorial. About your father."

Urie's palms sweat. He was up late last night, glaring at Mutsuki's ceiling, unable to piece the words he wants to say together, unable to make the music he wants everyone to hear and take away from it. Everything he thinks of isn't enough. Everything he comes up with feels flimsy, like trash.

"I'd like drafts of all speeches the week before," Matsuri continues. "If you're struggling, Urie, I can—I understand it's a sensitive topic—"

"No, it's going well," Urie forces himself to say. "I've been working on what to say." It's not a lie. "I'll submit it a week before."

Matsuri pulls out his phone. "And here's the photo we plan to use of him." Dad's younger, with one mole under his eyes where Urie has two, and a stern expression. Four-year-old Urie sits on his lap.

"It's good," Urie forces himself to say.

Matsuri nods and leaves. Urie heads up the stairs towards Mutsuki's piano practice room. He curses. _Why are you dead?_

He doesn't keep photos of his father. Or his mother. He thinks of Shirazu and curls his fists. "Mutsuki?" He rounds the corner, pushing open the door to the piano practice room.

Eto Ysohimura stands there, her back to Urie. Mutsuki sits on the red-padded piano bench, face pale, twisting his shirt.

"What are you doing, bitch?" snarls Urie. _Oh shit_. He probably shouldn't have said that to a professor. But if she's bothering Mutsuki, especially now—

Eto chortles. "I was just asking your boyfriend for a favor. I'm writing an article, you see. Taking down the Washuus and the system of sexual harassment and assault they've let run rampant at this school. They may have founded this place, but it'd be better off without them."

"Leave him alone!" Urie shouts. His mind spins. _What are you talking about?_

"We'll use pseudonyms," continues Eto. "We've got plenty of dirt from more people than you know. You're not the only one this has happened to."

"Can you stop?" Urie bellows. "Get out! You're upsetting him!" Mutsuki's crying.

"Fine." Eto holds up her hands. "Send me an email if you change your mind, Mutsuki." She pauses in the doorway. "And know this: even if you don't want to, you're not a coward. They are. Getting up in the morning and playing the piano is brave." She turns and leaves, the door slamming behind her.

* * *

"Hey," Mutsuki says to Hinami as he arrives at the cafeteria. Hinami asked if he wanted to get coffee, and he agreed, but didn't want to leave campus. Saiko walked him to the cafeteria and Hinami said she would walk him back. Because he's still so, so afraid of being alone, because that's all he's ever been.

"Hey!" Hinami chirps. She pushes a hot chocolate at him. "Ready for the concert? Ayato and I are going. I'm filling out the paperwork to get him a pass."

Mutsuki nods. "Good." He sips.

"How are you doing, Mucchan?" Hinami asks, leaning forward.

"I have my moments," Mutsuki says, spinning the cup around and around on the surface of the table. He glances out the giant windows they sit next to, watching the sun skip over the lake. He thinks of Eto's offer and cringes. "Urie and I are—dating. I think."

"That's great," Hinami says, grinning as she sips her creamy coffee. "When Ayato and I started dating, it took him, like, months to actually ask me out even though he apparently had a crush on me the entire time."

Mutsuki snorts. "That sounds familiar." He still wonders if it's really true. Did Urie really like him the whole time? Just because Mutsuki hugged him? He hadn't thought too much of it. He didn't want Urie to hate him in that moment. And he heard himself in Urie's cries.

He hunches his shoulders. He still feels unlovable.

"No one will ever give a memorial for my father," Hinami says suddenly, staring out the glass at the trees swaying in the wind. "I was crying to Ayato about it last night. And when I cry—the first time I really opened up to him about how much I missed them, which was after they announced the concert—he just—he holds me—that's when I know he love me. That he means it. Because he used to talk down about people who cried and say it made me look like a dumb baby—but now—he really cares." Hinami's voice catches in her throat.

 _I killed my parents. And I still hate them, and I still love them_. He squeezes his eyes shut.

"Hey," Hinami says. "I'm—whatever you need from me, Mutsuki."

"You're a better person than me," Mutsuki says.

Hinami smiles sadly. "No, I'm not. We're both just two lonely people. I decided to go to :re, in the first place, you know, not because my dad used to work here, but because I heard Kaneki—Sasaki—would be back. He comforted me after my dad—and then—he left. I always wondered what I did. Everyone treated our family like pariahs, and he—he at least I thought would have a reason."

Mutsuki swallows.

Hinami lifts her shoulders. "I relate."

Mutsuki smiles.

That night, Urie comes into his room to sleep on the floor again. Mutsuki catches him rubbing his back. "Hey, Urie?"

"Yeah?" He looks up, arranging his blankets.

"Are we dating?" Mutsuki asks. His lungs constrict.

Urie gulps. "Do you—want to be?"

Mutsuki's hope crumples.

"Yes!" Urie blurts out. "I mean—I want to date you, Tooru. I—I love you. I just don't want you to feel—pressured, or—"

"I don't want you to feel obligated," Mutsuki says, tears filling his eyes. He reaches out and cups Urie's face in his palms. "I'm sick and I'm hurt but you are not obligated to—out of pity or—"

Urie recoils. "Why would you say that? It isn't pity! When I say something, I—I love you."

Mutsuki hunches over. "I've never heard it before. At all."

Urie freezes. "Well. I do." He eases himself on the bed next to Mutsuki, hand awkwardly patting his shoulder.

"I felt pressured today," Mutsuki admits, wringing his hands. "When Eto—"

"You shouldn't have to," Urie interrupts.

"But if I wanted to," Mutsuki says. He thinks of Hinami chasing Sasaki, and realizing Ayato was running beside her, and that her baggage wouldn't tie her down. "Would you help me? I mean, would you go with me?"

Urie's jaw drops. "Mutsuki—"

Mutsuki closes his eyes. "I'm so tired of lying, and you—you make me feel safe, Urie. You wouldn't have to do anything. Just—be there. Maybe hold my hand. Maybe not." He doesn't know if he's making any sense. His face burns. "You're enough."

Urie sucks in his breath. "Tooru."

Mutsuki opens his eyes. Urie lowers his face, hovering inches from his. His breath smells like garlic. His eyes fixate on Mutsuki's, and he brushes a green strand of hair from Mutsuki's forehead.

Urie leans down and presses his lips against Mutsuki's. Butterflies flitter in Mutsuki's stomach.

He's never been kissed before Urie, besides the one peck Mutsuki initiated. Mutsuki isn't quite certain what to do with his teeth, or his tongue, but he opens his mouth to let Urie in. He likes how it feels, how Urie's hand stays securely on the back of his head and the other hand holds Mutsuki's. Every so often, Urie pulls away, panting, searching Mutsuki's face to see if he wants to stop. But he doesn't. This, this is what it feels like in his dreams. Mutsuki delves deeper, wanting more of Urie. _You love me. You really do._

_I love you. I think._

When they finally pull apart, Urie gives him a reassuring smile. Mutsuki nods. "Urie?"

"Yeah?" He eases himself off the bed.

"Can I call you Kuki?"

Urie snorts. "Yeah."

Mutsuki exhales. "Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?" He covers his mouth. "Not like that! Not like—just—if you wanted to—without doing anything, I don't want—"

"Are you comfortable with that?" Urie asks.

Mutsuki nods. _Please hold me._

Urie gets up and turns off the light. The bed creaks as Urie gets in. He's warm, and his arms wrap around Mutsuki. His lips plant a chaste kiss on Mutsuki's scalp.

When he wakes, Urie's arms are still around him, but they don't feel constraining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Akira fails to have an important conversation, and Mutsuki and Urie go for a run.


	22. Though She Be But Little, She is Fierce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

Akira paces back and forth, wringing her hands. She still can't bring herself to look at Amon after almost having sex with Seidou the other night. And she can't look at Seidou either.

_You're not just a backup. Neither of you ever were._

But she can't blame him for believing that, even if she wants to scream at _him you're enough, you're worth it, I want you!_

She can't play her cello. Every time she picks up the bow and tries to practice, the notes screech, and she remembers her father, his hands covering hers as she learned the notes. Her throat tightens.

_Daddy, why?_

Fueguchi Hinami will be there. At the memorial. Probably, at least. Akira leans her head back against the cool wall of the practice room and closes her eyes. She knows what she needs to do. Her heart doesn't want to do it.

Akira pries herself away from the wall. She packs up her cello and grabs her coat, wrapping it around herself as she heads out into the blustery day. She hurries to the cafeteria, where she buys a soda—something her father would not have approved of—and plops down in a booth, pretending to read the news on her phone when it really just goes in one eye and out the other.

They enter with a group of kids just out of classes. Hinami and her boyfriend, who is definitely not a student, not that Akira will say anything. Akira scrunches into her seat. She should just stay here.

 _No_. If she wants to reach out now, she has to do this. Akira gets to her feet, jogging after them before she changes her mind. She reaches out to tap Hinami on the shoulder before she enters the food court.

Hinami turns. Her eyes bug out. Kirishima Ayato's jaw drops.

"Hi," says Akira, smiling nervously. "Can we—talk for a moment?"

"What do you have to say to her?" demands Ayato, stepping in front of his girlfriend. He crosses his arms, indigo eyes flashing as if he'd like to reduce Akira to ash.

 _You don't even know me or go here, edgelord_. Akira scowls. "I want to—" She swallows. "Apologize."

"For what?" asks Ayato, sneering. His hand squeezes Hinami's shoulder. The girl herself focuses on her sneakers. Tears build in her eyes.

 _Oh, crap._ Akira never meant to make her cry. She gulps. "I—for—what my father did. Kirishima—Touka—your sister—she told me," she says. "I—"

"Why are you addressing me?" Ayato cuts in. "Address her. You did nothing to me."

Akira grits her teeth.

"She did nothing to me, either," Hinami says quietly. Her voice sounds like feathers brushing Akira's skin.

"But my dad did," Akira interrupts. Other students stream around them, chattering and complaining about homework. A backpack hits her shoulder. The smell of soy sauce and spice fills the air. Her face feels like it's melting off and she hates it. She wants to be somewhere cool and damp and without other people around _. Don't hate him._

_He deserves it._

_I'm a mess_.

Akira clears her throat. "I didn't find out until recently what really happened. And I'm sorry. I had no idea. Your father—deserved better. I'm sorry, Fueguchi."

"It's too late, isn't it?" Ayato interrupts. His voice catches. "Just what do you expect an apology to do for her?"

Akira blinks. "I—"

"It's about you, isn't it?" Ayato snaps. His eyes narrow. "You're still going to read some sort of statement about him at that concert, even though he didn't die in that tragedy. You're going to paint him in white-gold paint and—"

"Ayato, stop," Hinami says softly.

Tears burn in Akira's eyes. "It's not like that. I'm not. I mean, Amon is."

"What's the difference? He's your boyfriend, right?" Ayato glares at her, and it hits Akira in the pit of her stomach just how much this boy dislikes her.

"No," Akira answers truthfully. "We broke up."

"I'm sorry," says Hinami, meeting Akira's eyes.

She blinks. _For me?_

"Everything your father stood for is still heralded here," Ayato adds. His voice shakes. "Everything her father stood for is forgotten."

Akira thinks of the Tsuneyoshi rumors. She wants to vomit.

"You probably mean well," Ayato says. "But any apology from you is empty."

"What about her?" Akira manages. "Maybe she can speak for herself."

"She absolutely fucking can," Ayato shoots back. "But maybe she shouldn't have to, because unless you're willing to show meaningful change, all your _I'm sorry please absolve me of the guilt I hold from my dead asshole father_ is just words, and it's all about you."

"And what am I supposed to do?" Akira demands. "He's dead." They're both dead.

"That's not her problem." Ayato wraps his arm around Hinami's shoulders. They turn away from Akira, leaving her standing there with a stream of students cascading around her.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Eto trills, popping off her pen cap. She has her phone there on her desk, voice recorder turned on. It lies on a pile of papers and books. Mutsuki can't even see a centimeter of wood—it's that cluttered, and everything helter-skelter rather than in neat stacks. Mutsuki can't imagine how the professor can possibly do her work.

Urie squeezes his hand. Mutsuki glances at him. He knows that no matter what he says, Urie will support him.

"No," Mutsuki says. "But I'm going to."

"Are you sure?" Eto asks. She pushes her glasses back on her face. "Talking about things before you're ready isn't a good idea, Mutsuki."

Urie squeezes his hand. "I'm ready," says Mutsuki. At least, he wants to take that step. And he wants to do it now. He wants to see others take down Tsuneyoshi and Saeki and all of these cowardly assholes running this place, soiling this school.

Eto doesn't protest.

"What are you getting out of it?" Mutsuki asks first. "Why do you care? Why are you writing this?" It isn't out of the goodness of Eto's heart, he feels certain of that. She's a great professor, but a good person? No.

Eto leans forward. A small smile comes over her face, but it doesn't meet her eyes. "My mother was murdered by a misogynistic asshole whom my father was too stupid to believe was actually harassing and stalking her. And then he abandoned me too because he couldn't bring himself to face himself. I reminded him of his failures. So he set up Anteiku and fostered other kids, but his real kid? No." Bitterness swims in her tone.

Mutsuki's jaw drops. Urie shakes his head.

"He's dead," Eto says. "Long dead. Well, not long. He died in the explosion, actually. He was catering the meeting, you know. Because his coffee was the best. Because he put more work and effort and care into his coffee beans than he did into his own child, because he failed my mother."

 _Was I my father's failure_? Urie rubs his fingers over Mutsuki's knuckles, massaging his hand. Mutsuki lowers his head.

"I joined this school to take them down," Eto says. "It's been a slow process, you see. Ever since my father died. He didn't stick around long enough for me to confront him, because he was always a coward. But I heard the rumors. And I knew I was going to bring it down."

Mutsuki snorts. Urie sighs.

"How many other people are you interviewing?" Mutsuki asks.

Eto taps her pen against her chin. "Many. I can't divulge, since many want it kept silent. But Fueguchi told her father's story again, with documents, that I can say."

"What happens afterwards?" Urie wonders. "Like—will the school close?"

"Maybe. I wouldn't mind that at all."

Mutsuki lowers his head. "I would."

"Why?" demands Eto.

"It's given me a family," Mutsuki says, lifting his head. "It's hurt me, but—without it I wouldn't have met Juuzou, or Saiko, or Shirazu… or Urie. I don't want it destroyed. I want it reformed."

"Do you think that can happen?" asks Eto, leaning forward, chin on her palm. "Most reformations just lead to the same lyrics but to a different tune."

"I don't know," Mutsuki whispers.

"If you're not going to be helpful—" Urie interrupts.

"I just want to start," Mutsuki interrupts. "I just want to—say it." He looks at Eto. "When will the article come out?"

"Hopefully, if Tatara's connections pull through, the morning of the memorial." Eto clears her throat. "I suppose that will determine the future of this university. How they go about handling it. Whether they act immediately or, as always happens, procrastinate until they have no other options but the option they always knew they should take." She rolls back in her chair and spins around, staring out the window at the clouded sky. "But you know, there are… professors making reports. And TAs. Not just students." She glances over her shoulder at them.

 _Really_? Mutsuki's heart lifts. He digs his fingers into Urie's hands as he details what happened, from the first time Tokage caught him with the cat and gave him a knife, to the time Tokage and Saeki harassed him—which Urie corroborates—and to the night of the party. Mutsuki takes deep breaths. Eto even makes him tea with honey and lemon during a break. And he describes the shed incident. "It's really no use using pseudonyms, is it? Everyone will know it's me."

"Trust me and my editing skills," Eto proclaims.

Mutsuki doesn't. His face feels sticky from tears, sweat drenches him like he's just run a marathon, his stomach cramps, and he just wants to sleep. But Urie's still here. Urie's still holding his hand, and watching him with compassion.

Eto dismisses them, thanking Mutsuki again. Mutsuki stumbles outside, and grabs Urie. Urie runs his hands down Mutsuki's spine. "Thanks for being there," Mutsuki mumbles.

"It's painful being alone," Urie replies. His voice catches. "It's agonizing."

* * *

"Hey," says Akira as she arrives at Arima's office for a meeting. Eto's there too, perched on Arima's desk, and Amon, Hirako, Ui, and Seidou. Akira's face heats as she avoids Seidou's eyes.

_Why?_

She's not embarrassed of him. She meets his eyes and smiles. He nods at her. She takes a seat in the middle of the semicircle surrounding the desk.

Sasaki opens the door behind her. He looks pale.

"Well," says Eto. "We're all here."

"Yes," Arima agrees. "We are." The curtains are drawn, casting the room in a dusky light.

"I had my last interview today," says Eto, swinging her legs. "And I heard from Tatara. The article's a go. It'll be published the day of the concert."

"Cutting it kind of close, isn't it?" asks Ui, pinching his nose.

Eto scowls. "You do want it to be well-written, don't you? To the best of my ability?"

Ui nods.

"Good." Eto shrugs. "What's your plan after it's out? Because we need one. Because Tsuneyoshi won't be hesitating to hunt down the people who contributed to the article. I'm going to use pseudonyms and all, but you and I both know some of them will be obvious to Tsuneyoshi and he'll go after them."

"No, he won't," says Arima. "We're not going to give him the chance."

"How?" demands Ui.

"The board ultimately makes a decision to remove a president," says Amon. "And he's got the board stacked with friends."

Seidou snorts. "Let's see if they're still his friends when the public gets a whiff of this story."

Akira bites her lip. She remembers her father. He did just that. _What if they all dismiss it?_

"Coup," jokes Amon. He and Seidou smirk at each other.

"I think we have to be prepared for that possibility," Akira says, twisting her hands in her lap. "I mean, that the board might—not believe the article. Until public pressure grows, and in the meantime, based on what you've said, I don't trust him not to strike back against those students and staff any way he can."

"Can we reach the board first?" Amon asks, leaning forward. "Eto, your article will be done the day before at least, right?"

"And say what?" Sasaki whispers. "If they're all his friends—"

"I can," Eto confirms. "And also to ask them for a comment, which, of course, we all know they won't give."

"I'll threaten to leave," says Arima.

"So what?" asks Eto. "You're a famous musician, but you're still a thing to Tsuneyoshi, and if he gets to talk to them—"

"Yoshitoki," says Seidou.

"Hm?"

"He's your brother, isn't he?" asks Seidou, looking at Arima. "Maybe it's time to tell him he can get off his ass, and Matsuri too, or they can go down with a sinking ship."

"They'll go down anyways," says Eto, cackling. "No one's going to accept it being passed down like a monarchy—"

"If he gets the board to remove his father, he might have a chance," says Seidou. "More than any other chance he'd have. And to atone for all the shit he knew about and did jack shit about, because there's no excuse and I hope he suffers for it."

Arima lowers his head.

 _You're torpedoing your own career_ , Akira realizes. _You'll go down too_. _You're an adult. Even if you didn't know that it wasn't all consensual until Rize._

"At the very least it's his chance to do the right thing," Amon says quietly.

Arima nods. "I'll go to him. The day before, so in case it goes wrong, the story won't get killed."

Eto claps her hands. "Yay."

Akira thinks of her DMA acceptance. If the school goes down, other TAs like Sasaki and Seidou might not be able to get into programs with that scarlet letter on their transcript.

But they all think it's worth it.

_Dad, I wish you had a fraction of their morality._

* * *

Urie and Mutsuki head to the library afterwards, studying, though Urie can tell Mutsuki's not doing much studying. They have dinner, Mutsuki then goes to therapy, and then they go to the gym to work out. Mutsuki asked Urie what he did to take his mind off things, and Urie's answer was always studying or working out. Except it never really worked: his problems still pressed in around him, and memories still chased him.

This time, though, he helps Mutsuki lift weights. They run together, Urie slowing down but then realizing Mutsuki is more than capable of keeping up with him. Mutsuki grins, and Urie grins back.

They get back to the Chateau around one in the morning, kicked out of the closing gym. Urie keeps an eye out for any creeps, but no security guards cross their paths. They paused to make out on the path, stars shining above them, still sweating from their workout.

Mutsuki grabs his shower caddy from his room and Urie from his room.

"That was fun," Mutsuki remarked.

"It was," Urie says. "It was—probably the only time it ever worked. To distract me."

Mutsuki frowns. His lips are swollen.

"Because you were there," Urie says. His face reddens.

Mutsuki nods. He ducks into a shower stall, turning on the water. Urie pauses to brush his teeth first.

"Hey Urie?" calls Mutsuki as Urie strips in the stall next to him. Water patters around him. Urie can already feel the steam seeping into his own stall. He shivers.

"Yeah?"

"You can—come in with me. If you want."

Urie drops his bar of soap. "What?" The word comes out a croak.

"Sorry," Mutsuki says quickly. "You don't have to. I mean—I was just—"

"You don't owe me," Urie blurts out, and then could kick himself. What a terrible thing to say. "I mean, for supporting you. It's because I love you. Not because—I'm hoping to—I mean—"

"I'm asking you because I wouldn't mind if you did. And I—" Mutsuki sucks in his breath. "I want you to. But only if you want to."

"Isn't this kind of soon?" Urie wheezes. His palms tingle with how badly he wants to dive in there, see Mutsuki the way he's imagined him and hated himself for doing so.

"It's rushed," Mutsuki admits. "But—I was talking to Banjou, my therapist, and he said it's important for me to take control over my own—experiences. And so—it's fast—"

Urie squeezes his eyes shut. He's completely nude in the stall, shivering. "I want to. I just don't want you to have regrets."

"Let me make my own regrets," says Mutsuki, voice trembling.

Urie gulps. He grabs a towel and ties it around his waist, listening. The halls are silent. He grabs his shower caddy and slips into Mutsuki's stall, locking it because Mutsuki clearly hadn't. _You really do want this?_

Urie inhales. His lungs ache. He can do this.

He slips behind the shower curtain, where Mutsuki's back is turned. Urie's eyes instantly land on purple, jagged scars twisting up his back. His stomach knots. _Your father?_

Mutsuki turns, arms wrapped over his chest. More scars mottle his skin in the front. No, not mottle. They're part of Mutsuki. They testify of how strong he is, to have endured so much and to keep going.

Mutsuki's eyes travel up and down Urie. The water runs warm down his back. He drops his eyes, taking in Mutsuki's body. "You're perfect."

Mutsuki lowers his head, face crunching. And then he looks up. "So are you." He lets his arms fall, exposing his chest.

 _Wow_. Urie probably shouldn't stand there gaping. "I'm a virgin. I mean—not that I expect—but—I've never seen—"

Mutsuki starts giggling. "Urie, I wouldn't have asked you into the shower if I wasn't thinking about it." He shakes shampoo out onto his palm. "Here." His fingers knead Urie's scalp, massaging the tension away. Urie closes his eyes.

He washes Mutsuki's hair next, and then Mutsuki Urie's body, and Urie Mutsuki's. He hesitates before touching Mutsuki's breasts, but Mutsuki says he can. He kisses Mutsuki's scars, and Mutsuki's breath shudders. Urie drops his lips down Mutsuki's chest, to his navel, and lower.

Mutsuki wraps his arms around Urie, pulling him back up, kissing him. Mutsuki's back is against the wall, water still steaming around them. Mutsuki fumbles to turn off the shower.

They both grab towels and freeze when they hear Higemaru singing to himself as he washes his hands. Mutsuki claps his hand over his mouth. His shoulders shake with repressed laughter. Urie cringes.

But Higemaru leaves, and Mutsuki grabs Urie's hand, pulling him in a mad dash to Mutsuki's room. Urie locks the door.

"Saiko gave me these," says Mutsuki, kneeling on the floor. He pulls out a condom and tosses it at Urie. "I did get tests, by the way. After. They were negative, but—"

"I wouldn't care," Urie says, turning his back to Mutsuki as he struggles to put it on. Okay, the last time he did this was with a banana during health class in high school. "How—how do you want to do this?"

"Um," Mutsuki says. "I really don't know."

Urie turns and leans down, kissing Mutsuki. He drops his towel, and Mutsuki drops his, kicking it away. He'll let Mutsuki take the lead. Mutsuki kisses and kisses him, training his lips down Urie's pecs, running his hands down Urie's sides, lingering on his hips. Mutsuki pulls Urie onto the bed, lying next to him, still kissing. Urie's body's reacting.

Mutsuki hesitates, and then crouches over Urie, lips still digging into his, teeth clacking. Urie snorts. "You can."

"Huh?" Mutsuki frowns.

"If you want to be on top," says Urie. "I don't mind. If you'd be more comfortable." Plus he's still worried he'd mess up and hurt Mutsuki.

Mutsuki's eyes widen. He nods, delving back down for a kiss that takes Urie's breath away. And then he sinks onto Urie. Urie bites back a gasp. Mutsuki lets his own gasp out.

"It's okay?" Urie asks.

Mutsuki nods. He leans back down, and Urie wraps his arms around Mutsuki's waist, pulling him, guiding him somehow even as Mutsuki moves. Sweat rolls down Urie's face, and he sees Mutsuki above him, Mutsuki with his face shining, eyes brown and gleaming and lips red and soft and on his own and pinching and Mutsuki's gentle, just like he was the day he hugged Urie, the day he showed him he was not alone.

Urie's back arches, and he knows he can't conceal himself from Mutsuki, not now when he's literally inside him and his face is giving everything away, and he has tears in his eyes, and his chest trembles, his whole body shakes, and he's not alone, and he feels alive in a way he never imagined, not in years. _I'm with you._

Mutsuki groans, hand cupping Urie's face. He rolls off him, burying his face in Urie's shoulder. Urie gulps.

"I love you," Mutsuki whispers.

 _What?_ Urie turns to him. Mutsuki peeks out eyes searching Urie's. "I love you, Kuki."

 _Kuki_. Urie nods, wrapping his arms around Mutsuki again. "Tooru, I love you."

He falls asleep and he has no dreams, because he has them in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Takizawa and Akira talk, and Ui confronts Tsuneyoshi.


	23. All the Devils are Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

"Aren't you scared?" Akira asks, sipping her tea.

"Yeah," says Amon, turning his coffee around and around in his hand. Seidou sits with the three of them at :re. Kirishima— _Touka_ , as she says to call her—works behind the counter, flirting with Sasaki, who seems to be trying to babysit Furuta. Furuta's head rests on the table and he's whining about something inane.

"We're all either going to be thrown out or that bastard is," says Seidou, tipping his head back to drain his espresso. "Let's hope for the best."

Akira sighs. The concert's tomorrow, too. Arima's talking to Yoshitoki, and he agreed to help, but who knows if it will amount to anything. A knot tightens in Akira's stomach.

"Amon," Akira says, watching Touka flick water on Sasaki, who yelps. "I don't think we should read anything about my father at the concert."

Amon sucks in his breath. Seidou cocks his head, studying her.

"Fueguchi Hinami will be there," Akira says. "And given what we know about Tsuenyoshi—and why her father was fired—and given what's going to happen tomorrow—I don't think I can justify it." Her eyes burn.

Amon swallows. Seidou sets his cup down.

"We can go put flowers on his grave this weekend," says Akira, clutching the edge of the table. "But…"

_I'm sorry, Daddy._

But she can't do that to Hinami.

"You know," says Seidou. "No matter how much good he did, Amon, he also did some really shitty things that the good doesn't erase."

 _Are you talking about yourself, too? And Amon? And… me_.

Amon lowers his head. He nods.

"Thank you," Akira whispers. The coffee surges up her throat. She still feels like she's betraying him, betraying the man who gave up the concert performing career he'd worked so hard for to raise her, and when his colleagues commented about a waste of talent—and they did, Akira heard them—he shut them down, telling them raising Akira was all he ever wanted. And he never once made her even wonder whether he regretted that choice.

But he hurt Hinami, hurt her family apart with his actions, and they're not around to make amends. It's up to the children. Neither of whom are at fault, and yet still, the legacy continues.

Akira glances at Takizawa.  _I want that legacy to stop._

She worries it won't be enough, that they'll fail, that she'll wake up tomorrow and nothing will have changed, that no one will care. She worries that their article will just be screaming in a crowded station of people with places to go and people to see and no time to spare for the bleeding.

_Is this how Hinami feels? Mutsuki?_

Akira drives them all back to the school. Touka waves at them, Sasaki opting to linger. She hopes they get together soon. Rain starts to fall, soft and gentle. Akira ducks her head, droplets running down her neck. She waves goodnight to the guys and heads to her apartment, shrugging out of her sopping coat and kicking off her shoes. Maris Stella rubs against her calves, purring in a not-so-subtle code for  _feed me._

Akira opens a can and empties it into a bowl. Maris Stella doesn't so much as meow her thanks, but her cuteness makes up for it.

_I wish someone could take care of me, and like me just for existing again._

Akira flops back on her couch. She squeezes her eyes shut so she doesn't have to see the photographs of her dad and the mom she doesn't even remember, watching her.

A knock sounds at the door. Akira groans, dragging herself to her feet. She yanks open the door, hair mussed and falling down, damp, from its bun and braids. "Yeah?"

"Bad timing?" quips Seidou, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched.

Akira rolls her eyes. "Everything's bad timing now." She closes the door behind him. His hair's plastered to his forehead. "Forget where you live?"

Seidou lets out a snort. "No."

Akira heads back to her couch, dropping down. She presses one of the throw pillows against her abdomen, peering at him.

"I talked to Amon," Seidou says.

Akira arches her eyebrows. "Did you?"

"Yeah," says Seidou, looking at her kitchen, at the sofa, at Maris Stella, anywhere but—no, wait, now he lands his gaze on her. "He told me I was an idiot, and that if I liked you, I should trust you, because otherwise I wouldn't deserve you."

Akira blinks.

"It's true, too," says Seidou. "I don't know so much if I don't want to believe you—like me, or if I don't think I can. I don't know if it's you or me."

 _Why are you telling me this?_  "I can't help you with that," Akira says. She swallows.

"I know." His shoulders hunch. His head drops, and then he meets her eyes again. "Akira, I—I love you so much—I think I'm afraid to think I could be anything more than a second option. I've always felt like a—like an addition to someone's life. Houji's. My parent's. Seina's. No one sticks around when things go badly—when I can't live up to their expectations—but you—you say you wanted to—"

Akira's hands tingle. "You've never been a second option, and you've never been second-best, Seidou." She pinches her kneecaps. "Amon was right for me, for a time. But we didn't seize it, and now—"

"Do you wish you had?"

"I don't," says Akira. "Things are the way they are, and I wouldn't go back and change anything." Except her father's actions. But not in her life.

Seidou looks at her, eyes wet. "Could we try, again?"

Tears slip out from Akira's eyes, hot against her skin. She nods.

Seidou rises, heading over to her. He hesitates, and then leans down. His calloused palm caresses the back of her neck. He pulls her face up, and he kisses her. This time he tastes like espresso and warmth. She presses up into him, parting his lips with hers.

"You've missed your boat," Akira pants. "You don't get to touch a boob."

Seidou snickers. He pulls away, biting his lip. "Is it that obvious I'm a virgin?"

"I was until recently, too," says Akira. She heads into her bedroom, Seidou following her. Maris Stella cowers in the corner. She tosses him a condom.

He wraps his around around her waist. They don't have to have sex to prove they want to date, or that they love each other. But Akira wants to, and as Seidou's fingers fumble to undo the buttons on her blouse, she knows he does too.

He slides his hands under her blouse, Akira's back against the wall. She reaches to pull off his ratty t-shirt, tossing it to the floor. Her hands unbuckle his belt, sliding his jeans down. He bunches her skirt up around her waist, pulling her stockings down.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. They should be over on the bed, especially if it's Seidou's first time. But Akira doesn't care. She's tired of  _supposed tos_. Her fingers dig into his shoulder blades. He lifts her up. The muscles in her arms and legs ache as they work together.

"You okay?" Seidou pants.

"Yeah," she ekes out. This is adventurous. She almost laughs, but instead she focuses on the nape of Seidou's neck. One of his hands roams through her hair, tearing the bun down.

They wind up in the bed after he shakes and moans, but Akira wants more. She says his name,  _Seidou_ , and he says hers, and she reaches up to touch his cheekbone, sweat drenching her hair and skin.

When she wakes up the next morning, she finds Seidou asleep beside her. Lavender dawn pokes through the window, thread embroidering the sky. Akira reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from Takizawa's face. His cowlick still stands up. Akira smiles.

She has no idea what's about to happen today.

She's scared. She wants to hope, but she's scared.

But for this moment, Seidou's here with her. Akira presses close against him. At the moment, at least, she feels safe. And he chose her. And she chose him. And she's glad.

* * *

"You can't leave me behind," Hairu says as Ui pushes eggs onto her plate. Not that he's hungry. He has to dump enough salt to give a cardiologist a coronary at the sight onto his own eggs to be able to taste them.

"You're not a TA," Ui says automatically.

Hairu narrows her eyes. "I'm his stepdaughter. We know he isn't going to face any legal ramifications, so this might be my only chance to face him."

"Hairu, we're just telling him it's over."

"I want to tell him he sucks."

Ui grimaces. "Hairu—"

"I know the board will be there," Hairu interrupts. "And I know it has to be professional, blah blah blah. But I want to be there too. I have the right to be, more than anyone." Her breath catches.

Ui closes his eyes.

"What about Shio?" Hairu asks. "Have you spared a thought as to what will happen to him?"

Her eggs sit untouched on her plate. Ui motions. "They're getting cold."

Hairu shovels them in her mouth. "I just want to ask him those questions. I want to ask him why he provided for me at all, and I know I won't be able to, but I want to at least see the look on his face." Her voice catches. "You know, Ui, we made fun of Rize. For being—slutty, but she wasn't really. Tsuneyoshi just encouraged us to be little assholes just like him. It's the only thing I can—I messed up—"

"You were a child," Ui insists, reaching out and catching her hand. He slides his thumb over her knuckles. "You're not to blame."

"I still messed up," says Hairu. "And I'd like to apologize to Rize, and I'd like to see his face."

Ui gulps. "Okay." Arima and Sasaki—they might protest. But Ui doesn't care.

"Thank you." Hairu relaxes. She pulls out her phone and her eyes widen.

"What?" Ui wants to know.

"It really is all over the news," says Hairu. " _Damn_." Her voice shudders in awe. "Eto really knows what she's doing."

Ui cringes. "I suppose."

He checks his own phone. Nothing from anyone. He wonders if they're all as sleep-deprived as he is. Ui rubs his eyes.

"Drink your coffee, zombie," teases Hairu.

Ui scowls at her, but he obeys. Hairu gets up and dumps the dishes in the sink. She never washes them for him, but that doesn't surprise him.

"How are you feeling about the concert later?" asks Ui. A distraction. He needs it.

Hairu glances over her shoulder. She leans against the counter. "I'm nervous." Her lips curve. "I want to do well. Prove I could have been a musician."

"You are a musician," Ui cuts in. "Regardless of what your major is. You play the violin, and you play it beautifully. You are one."

"Not a great one."

Ui sets his coffee down with a clank. "I'd rather listen to you than to half the accomplished musicians."

Hairu frowns.

"Because I love you," Ui says, his heart pounding. And seeing Hairu learn how to braid music notes into a tapestry is like a taste of heaven for him.

Hairu squeals and jumps up, throwing her arms around him, like that still excites her. He holds her close, breathing in her flowery scent. She inspires him, that she still hopes, that she hadn't given up on hope or love despite her circumstances, because he's not that strong, not nearly as strong as she is.

They gather at the front of the building, sun shining down but the air cold nonetheless. Ui shivers and clutches Hairu's hand. Sasaki raises his eyebrows when he sees Ui and Hairu approaching. Arima shakes his head. Ui glances at Hairu. But she just sets her jaw.

Yoshitoki arrives soon after with Fura, a member of the board. Ui watches Yoshitoki. Damn, he does look like an older Furuta. And he's Arima's brother. Hairu's stepbrother. Unofficially. Hirako, Amon, Mado, and Takizawa aren't coming. They march up the stairs, Ui keeping his head low. He studies the carpet, its twisted gold and matted blacks and worn crimson.

Fura looks at Arima, a strange look in his eyes. Arima opens the door to Tsuneyoshi's office. His secretary, a young pretty woman, leaps up to get him. Ui grits his teeth.

"You can all head back," the secretary informs them.

Arima leads the way, with Fura at his side. They enter the spacious office with its velvet drapes, mahogany desk, and high backed chairs. Ui can barely keep himself from snorting. Hairu tightens her grip on his hand.

Tsuneyoshi looks up at them, his face gray. He surely realizes what they're here for.

"The board has voted unanimously to remove you as acting president," Fura informs him, handing over a notice. "There will be a hearing later to determine if it's permanent or not."

Tsuneyoshi's lips curl in a sneer. "Acting a little rashly, aren't you?"

"No," says Arima. "I'm tired of covering for you."

"So am I," says Yoshitoki.

"And me," says Hairu, her voice small. Her fingers tighten their grip on Ui's wrist.

"You can't—"

"What, we're all lying?" shoots back Hairu.

"Having many relationships and illegitimate children is a scandal, but it's not a crime."

"But you've allowed crimes to perpetuate all over this campus," says Fura. "The police have opened an investigation into Saeki, and Tokage. You've made a mess of—"

"It's malicious gossip and my lawyer will—"

"To hell with your lawyer," says Yoshitoki, clenching his fists. "This ends here."

"I made you," says Tsuneyoshi. He rounds his desk, peering at Arima. He reaches out, pulling Arima's chin up to face him, and it's shocking to Ui, to see the man he looks up to so much looking like such a child. Arim's lips part, and he looks like he wants to pull away, run and hide.

 _"Bullshit,"_  snaps Ui, surprising himself. He gulps. Hairu looks up at him, green eyes glowing. "He's the one who did all the practice, who worked hard."

"Is he?" demands Tsuneyoshi. "Who paid for lessons? Who called in favors with orchestras? Whose name got him into grad school?"

"I don't care what you've done for me," Hairu says. "It doesn't change that you're a malignant asshole who thinks he has the right to control everyone just because he ponied up sperm or money into someone's making. No one cares. You can't control me and you can't control him. Karma's a bitch and she's finally eating you for a change."

Ui's jaw hangs open. So does Arima's. Yoshitoki fights a smile. Fura nods.

" _I don't fucking care!"_  comes a screech from out in the office. Ui jumps. Hairu gasps.

_Oh, fuck. Is that whom I think it is?_

The door slams open with a crunch, as if someone kicked it. Kamishiro Rize, eyes red from an obvious hangover, glares at her stepfather. Ui flinches.

"You fucking bastard," snarls Rize. She shakes a newspaper at him. "I heard. I heard—now everyone knows—"

"Who's this?" asks Fura.

"Rize!" Arima scrambles over to her. "My sister." He reaches for her, but she slaps him away.

"Told you you'd go down eventually, old man," she gloats.

A floorboard creaks. Hairu swears. Furuta steps into the office, smirking at his father.

"He raped me," Rize says, pointing at Tsuneyoshi. "Prick. I hope you—I hope you suffer—I hope you lose everything, and it still wouldn't be enough—you still wouldn't get it, would you?" Her voice rises to a scream.

"I just had to see your face,  _Daddy_ ," sneers Furuta. "Not that you've ever let me call you that." His lips curl and his gloved hands tighten. His shoulders shake.

"Remove him from campus," orders Tsuneyoshi. "He's been expelled."

"Why?" yells Furuta. "Because I didn't fit into your neat little order? I'm sorry I was never going to be the son you wanted. Except I'm not sorry. I think you can eat shit for what you did to Rize, to all of us—I'm going to laugh at every mention of your name from now on, laugh at how pathetic you are, how everyone is going to hate you. I engineered this, you know that? I came here and knew I was going to take you down, you worm-like bastard Gandalf."

_Notice me, Daddy._

_Daddy, come listen to me!_

_Daddy?_

Ui remembers tugging at his father's sleeves, wanting to show him a new song he'd learned on the violin. He seldom came. A lump expands in Ui's throat.

"I hope you die," Furuta informs him. "Alone and—"

"Okay, okay, okay," interrupts Yoshitoki. "Nimura, you're—"

"You've had your say, brother-from-another-mother!" Furuta holds up his hand.

"Furuta," says Hairu.

"Shut up, Miss Swallows-Everything-with-a-Smile! I bet Ui appreciates that!"

"Hey!" Ui yells.

"Let him have it," says Rize, looking at Furuta. "Please, Nimura. Tell him. Keep telling him. There are no words that can—"

"Rize—" tries Arima.

" _You don't get a say!"_  Rize yells. "You kept your mouth shut all these years! You benefited even if you were—even if you weren't happy—all the time—you benefited—I didn't, I didn't,  _I_  get to say what I feel now!"

Ui swallows. Hairu grabs his elbow.

"What do you feel?" Arima asks softly, looking down at her.

"I feel—you never cared! You were always about—you never showed you cared at all!" Rize screams. She spits in his face, and Arima closes his eyes. "You liar, you fake, you hypocrite!"

Tears leak down Arima's face. "I was working all this time—"

"What does it matter, if I never knew it? If you never told me?" Rize snarls.

Everyone just stares. Ui doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know if there are words.

"Coward," says Furuta, quietly.

They're children, all of them. Ui watches Arima's face crumple, Rize sob, Furuta glare, and Hairu rock back and forth. Yoshitoki has his head in his hands, and Fura looks as if he'd like to dump gasoline on Tsuneyoshi and light a match. Sasaki cries.

Arima shakes his head wildly. "I—I don't know—what to—" His voice cracks.

 _Is he crying?_  Ui tightens his grip on Hairu's shoulder, pulling her close.

"I'm sorry," Arima whispers. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Rize's chest heaves with sobs. Furuta steps towards Tsuneyoshi, and slaps him.

"Hey!" Sasaki yanks him back.

Rize gapes up at Furuta.

"Rize," whispers Arima. "I'm sorry. I don't fault you, for not forgiving me—"

"But do you want her to?" Hairu demands. "Or are you just blindly accepting as always? Give her a choice."

Arima hesitates, and then he reaches out his arms for Rize. She glares at him.

And then she slaps him, and then grabs him in a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: the concert, but Akira goes missing.


	24. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

"That went surprisingly well," says Amon, rubbing his temples.

Akira nods, glancing at Seidou. He smiles at her. Amon will be taking over the role Tsuneyoshi would have had at the concert, and is currently handling conflicting reports on whether he should mention the scandal or keep it quiet.

"Don't you dare keep your mouth shut," Seidou says. "You don't have to go in graphic detail, but they're owed an apology. The world. At the very least."

Amon nods. "I agree."

Akira lets out her breath. Arima took Rize back to his place, Furuta trailing behind at Arima's insistence that he come too. And Arima and Yoshitoki promised to try and get him reinstated. Akira doesn't even mind.

She heads back to her apartment to get ready for the concert, changing into a short black dress and wrapping a shawl around herself. She combs her blond hair out, peering at her image in the mirror.

_Would you be proud of me, for doing the right thing, which you always told me to do?_

_Or would you be ashamed?_

She rather thinks it's the latter.

Akira flexes her finger and then slides lipstick the same hue as her eyes over her lips. She hopes Seidou's eyes bug out of his sockets when he sees her. Maris Stella wraps herself around her ankles, purring.

Akira's phone rings as she steps outside. The wind blows, almost sending her skirt flying up. So much for her nice hair. Leaves fly through the air, smacking into her dress. Orange light cracks through the clouds, glowing like embers as the sun bleeds away into night. "Hello?"

"Hey," says Seidou. "Girlfriend. Are you on your way? Arima could use the help since he's gonna be late—getting Rize and Furuta passes is apparently more of a hassle than you'd think because of course this place can't get its shit together."

"Hey Boyfriend," Akira says. "I will kick you with my stilettos if you ever refer to me that way again."

"Sounds kinky." He snickers.

 _You really like me._ Akira swallows.

"Hey, Hairu wants to know if you can stop and pick up her phone. She left it in Kanou's office," Seidou adds. "Ui's not letting her leave the concert hall because he says she'll get lost and be late."

Akira snorts. "Sure."

"Should I allow extra time because of the heels?"

Akira sidesteps a crack in the sidewalk. "You're really asking for it, aren't you? I could run laps around you in these heels."

"Ooh, damn," Seidou teases. "I know you could. See you soon."

"See you." Akira blinks. "Love you."

She hears an intake of breath. "Love you too."

Akira smiles as she approaches the science building. The lake ripples in the wind behind it. A flock of geese lift off the water, soaring towards the sunset. She pushes open the glass doors. It's deserted thanks to the coming concert. Her heels click on the glossy tiles. Akira heads up the stairs to Dr. Kanou's office.

The lights in the upstairs hallway is off. It reeks of cleaning fluid. Akira strides through the hallway towards the lab, where she knocks on the door.

No answer. Akira peers in through the window. She can see Hairu's phone in its plain black case resting on her desk.

Akira swipes her ID and the doors unlock. She heads in, reaching for the phone.

The lab smells strange. Singed, almost. Akira covers her mouth as she picks up the phone. G _ot it! On my way_ , she texts Seidou.

The door to Kanou's office swings open. Akira yelps.

He blinks at her, and then his lips curve up in a smile. "Mado."

"H-hello," Akira stammers. "I didn't know you were there."

He pulls off his glasses, his white coat. Thick gloves cover his hand. Akira glances down the hoods and sees one of them lit. "I was just checking for a special tool in my office.'

Akira nods. "I needed to pick up Ihei's phone." She holds it up. "Are you coming to the concert?"

Kanou shakes his head. "I hadn't planned on it." He manages a smile. "Well, I might come now, for the end, now that Tsuneyoshi Washuu is gone."

Akira frowns. The heat in the lab turns on, blowing down the back of her neck. "Did you—know? About him?"

"About what the sleaze he was?" Kanou snorts. "Yes, yes, I did know, Mado."

"Then why didn't you do anything about it?' Akira asks, a lump in her throat. Her vision blurs, but she won't let the tears fall, because she's not about to risk smudging her eyeliner. Kanou's white hair blurs into her father's, and she sees him there for a moment, offering her a sad smile.

"I did," says Kanou. "Or at least, I tried." He heads over to the open hood, planting his hands down, back to her.

_Turn around. Face me. Daddy._

"After your father failed to do anything," says Kanou. "I heard from Fueguchi what happened. But you must have seen yourself. We aren't all Arima Kishou. Without evidence and with Kamishiro too traumatized to talk, what could be done?"

Shame clouds Akira's mind. She lowers her head. "I'm sorry."

"For what, child?" asks Kanou. "It's not your fault. You aren't responsible for your father's sins. You atoned for them."

"You think so?" Akira lifts her head. A little voice inside her head tells her she should leave, head to the concert, she doesn't want to be late after all. But she stays. She stays because Kanou's words intoxicate her, wrap her in the comforting strings she's been seeking.

Kanou nods, turning back to her. "So many at this school turned their backs for so long. They all knew, and no one cared. They _all_ knew."

"That he was a womanizer, or that he was—"

"What happened with Kamishiro isn't as secret as everyone acts like it is," says Kanou. "And Saeki, that rancid security guard—he's no secret either." Kanou shakes his head in disgust. "They all deserve to suffer. Instead Tsuneyoshi will just get a seven figure severance."

"It's awful," Akira says softly.

Kanou nods. "The world is so, so wrong."

Akira nods. She steps closer. "Thank you. For telling me that."

Kanou smiles at her. "Thank you for doing the right thing."

Her gaze lands on something beyond Kanou's shoulder. On the hood, what looks like a pipe lies there. With wires. _Huh?_

_Holy shit._

Cold sizzles through Akira, stabbing her like needles. Her stomach heaves, but she forces herself to remain calm. "Have a good night." She turns, heels clacking as she hurries away. _That's a bomb. That's a bomb. That's a bomb—the explosion—am I crazy? I need to talk to Seidou—to Amon—to Hairu—_

A hand lands on her shoulder. Akira whirls around.

"Sorry," says Kanou. "Can't let you go."

Akira lashes out. She sends her stiletto into his crotch, slamming Hairu's phone across his nose. Her heart pounds. _Dad—Dad_ —he taught her defensive moves—

Kanou wheezes, but he scrambles away from her. Akira lunges for the door handle.

Kanou rips something out of the cabinet and grabs her shoulder. Akira screams.

"Keep screaming and fighting me, and I'll throw this on you," Kanou hisses. Akira peers up.

A clear bottle, with a soft blue label. _Hydrofluoric acid._

"It only takes a splotch the amount of a dime to send you into cardiac arrest," Kanou snarls. "And rinsing it off won't help. I'm in protective gear."

Akira can't move. Her heart pounds. Blood roars in her head.

"Good girl," says Kanou, grabbing her arm. "Walk."

* * *

"Where is Mado?" gripes Ui, smoothing his hair. Everyone mills about backstage, the drama kids rehearsing their play together and laughing, jarring all the music performers. The lights shine too garish. Mutsuki squints, shielding his eyes.

Urie rolls his eyes.

" _Your_ hair looks great," Mutsuki assures Urie, taking his hand. He's dressed in a suit Urie helped him pick out, hair smoothed and styled.

Urie smiles down at him. "Thanks."

Saiko chews gum, holding Hsiao's hand. Mutsuki gulps. He knows Urie's worried about the speech he'll have to give for Shirazu, even though he and Saiko are going to help him.

"I'm starting to get freaked out," Takizawa announces, striding towards Ui, who stands with Amon, Sasaki, Hairu, and Hirako. "She's not answering and I've called her three times. In a row."

"Maybe her phone died," suggests Hirako.

"No one's picking up Hairu's number either."

"Maybe she slipped in her heels," worries Hirako.

"Not helping," snaps Amon.

"Well, we've got fifteen fucking minutes until we're supposed to start," Takziawa says, clutching his hair. Even in a suit, shoes shined and tie neatly tied, his cowlick sticks up. Just like Shirazu's. Mutsuki frowns.

Roma titters in the corner. Itori frowns.

Mutsuki gives Urie a concerned look. He hopes Mado is okay. Guilt still gnaws at him when he remembers what he did to her.

The entire day's been a blur. He read the article with Urie holding him. It named Saeki. His name was changed, but there, and he cried. Saiko brought him pancakes Hsiao made for breakfast, and Aura and Higemaru came to watch a movie earlier.

"Kanou's coming, isn't he?" asks Amon. "Let's call him." He digs out his phone and steps away.

"Hey," calls a voice. Mutsuki turns to see Kirishima Touka standing there, dressed in an indigo dress, her fluffy blue hair sticking out from her face. Her gaze latches onto Sasaki.

Urie sucks in his breath. Mutsuki turns back to Urie, wrapping his arms around him. "I'm nervous."

Urie rubs his hand over Mutsuki's spine. "You're going to do great. At least, you're going to do the best you can do, and I'm going to be proud of you no matter how your best goes."

Mutsuki nods, hugging him tighter.

"Good luck," Kirishima tells Sasaki. Mutsuki lifts his head and meets Kirishima's eyes. She smiles at him. He nods back at her.

"Kanou says he hasn't seen her, but that he's not coming. He has your phone, Hairu," Amon reports.

"He's a snake," says Hairu. "I don't trust him."

"Huh?" Ui turns to stare at her. Takizawa stiffens, panic in his eyes,

"As you shouldn't," pipes up Hoito Roma. She hides behind her boyfriend, giggling. "I'm not sure about a snake, but he's _scary_. You better hope he doesn't come."

"What are you talking about, clown bitch?" snarls Takizawa.

Roma lifts her hands, shrugging. "I mean. He's scary. That's all I know. He hates Tsuneyoshi, though, so if you diss him, I'm sure he'll be happy."

Amon just gapes. Ui grabs Hairu's shoulder. "What did you mean?"

"I mean, if she's not answering and she's with Kanou, I'm scared for her!" Hairu shouts. "He's _not_ a nice man. Not in the same way Tsuneyoshi was—awful, but in his own way."

"I'm going," declares Takizawa. "Fuck the concert."

Mutsuki sucks in his breath.

"Me too," says Hairu.

"If you're going, I'm going," says Ui.

"I can help," says Kirishima. "Since I'm not a student and won't be missing anything from the concert—I mean, I'm not performing, so—"

"Touka—" starts Sasaki.

"Honestly, fuck this place," says Hairu. "We're—"

"What's going on?" demands Arima, striding in. Mutsuki exhales. And then he sees Furuta slipping behind Arima, his hand in Rize's.

"Akira's missing," says Takizawa, shaking. He details the problem. Mutsuki half-expects a snarky comment from Furuta about Takizawa's concern for Akira, but none comes. Yet.

"No, you don't understand!" shouts Sasaki suddenly. Touka's jaw opens. "You don't understand. Arima and I—Kanou's behind the explosion. I know he was. That's why we wanted the article to come out before the concert. Kanou tried to assassinate Tsuneyoshi that way—we thought he might try again."

"What?" erupts Urie. "So we're sitting on bombs?"

"No!" Arima steps in. "We had everything checked out and 24-hour surveillance. Kanou never entered this building."

"How the blast do you ever know this?" shouts Amon.

"I heard—I knew—when I visited campus," whispers Sasaki. "During my gap year. I saw Kanou with some—suspicious substances together. I didn't think anything of it. Until Rize told me—"

"That Kanou promised me he would do something about Tsuneyoshi," Rize interrupts. She wraps her arms around herself and rolls her eyes. "I didn't put two and two together."

"My dad died!" screams Urie. Mutsuki watches his face flood red.

"That's probably why he never acted again," says Arima. "The guilt—I don't think he meant to kill everyone else. The meeting ran late, and my father left early." He grimaces. "But the police never took it seriously."

"Can we delay the concert?" wonders Amon. "I'm the presenter, maybe we can wait fifteen minutes—"

"Not without a legitimate reason," snaps Ui.

"A TA missing isn't a legitimate reason?" screeches Takizawa.

"You need a distraction," coos Furuta. Mutsuki cringes. Urie scowls. "Like a fire alarm."

"We are not pulling the fire alarm; the wind is terrible outside," snaps Sasaki.

"Fine then. A security issue," says Furuta, glancing at Rize.

Mutsuki straightens. He realizes that Rize appears sober, her eyes clean and brighter than normal, and her hair combed and beautiful.

"Do not," orders Arima.

"I don't listen to you, brother," taunts Furuta.

Mutsuki covers his mouth. Saiko giggles.

"I'd like to," says Rize.

"Of course you would," mumbles Arima. "Don't hurt anyone."

"See ya." Furuta and Rize whisk away.

"Let's go," Takizawa says to Ui, Hairu, and Kirishima. Sasaki starts forward.

"I'll see you later, okay?" Kirishima looks directly at him. He gulps and nods.

"What do you think they're planning?" hisses Urie.

"Nothing good," Mutsuki whispers back. His heart pounds. He remembers what happened when he was missing. What if Saeki got to Akira? She's a beautiful woman. Mutsuki doesn't want that to happen to anybody else. He hunches in on himself. _Stay here. You're safe. You're safe._

But Akira might not be.

_Stay here. Stay here. Stay here._

"Tooru." Urie reaches out and clasps his face.

_I'm such a fuck-up—I'm still doing this, why am I still doing this, why do I still want to be anywhere but here?_

"Tooru," Urie repeats, gripping his face. "Look at me. You're here. You're safe. Whatever's going on right now—it's not your fault, and it's not up to you."

"You're okay," says Saiko, her hand on his shoulder. Hsiao crouches next to Urie, and Aura holds Mutsuki's shoulder and Higemaru stands behind him, a circle protecting him from—nothing. He's just a coward.

 _No_.

They're protecting him from himself. Mutsuki gulps.

"It's okay," Urie encourages. "I'm nervous too. For the performance, and for Mado."

"Same," says Aura, voice low. Urie blinks, surprised Aura's speaking. "My aunt's here and I want to impress her. My parents didn't come; they'd never be impressed no matter what I do."

"I'll be impressed," chirps Saiko. "You've improved a lot, San-chan."

Aura blinks. Mutsuki nods at him, and kicks Urie. Urie winces. "I'm impressed, too."

Aura ducks his head, cheeks flushing.

"I should tell you all," says Hsiao. "I'm—one of—I mean, Tsuneyoshi is my father."

"What?" Saiko gapes at her. Mutsuki's jaw drops.

Hsiao's shoulders slump. "I contributed to the article—I mean, Eto interviewed me. I'm the Taiwanese girl she mentioned." Hsiao lifts her eyes, wet. "Please don't hate me."

Mutsuki never thought he would see Hsiao begging. He doesn't want Hsiao to beg. She did nothing wrong.

"You're not responsible for what your parents did," says Saiko. "Or who they are. What they did to you, what they did to others—you make your own choices."

Higemaru nods. Urie still gapes at Hsiao, but his hands squeeze Mutsuki's, and he understands what Urie's saying to him even without words.

_What your father did to you is not your responsibility. You can make your own choices. And you can always make a new one._

Mutsuki blinks back tears. He leans his head against Urie's shoulder, breathing in the spicy scent of Urie's cologne. He feels safe with Urie. Safe with a man. He never imagined that would happen.

_Shirazu, you'd be happy, wouldn't you be?_

_This is your memorial. This is your legacy._ Mutsuki looks over the six of them, all smiling at each other.

"You guys gotta see this!" hollers Roma, cackling as she runs out from backstage.

Mutsuki grimaces. He doesn't want to imagine what Furuta's up to, but Urie pulls him along, following the sound of shrill shrieks.

Furuta and Rize scream at each other in the entryway, Rize actually slapping Furuta across the face.

"Damn," Urie whispers, appearing both jealous and impressed. Mutsuki snorts.

"You only think of yourself!" Furuta yells.

" _I_ only think of _myself_?" Rize screeches. "You're the one who acts like a fucking child even though you're in your twenties—I can't believe you're so embarrassing!"

"You just don't want to be embarrassed; that's more important than me!" whines Furuta.

"Damn right it is, when you're acting like a complete fool, you piece of shit!"

"Oh, that's a thing to say to a depressed person, you hedonist!"

"This is fake, isn't it?" Hsiao whispers.

"I'm really not sure," Saiko replies.

"Hey, hey!" erupts a voice that sends Mutsuki doubling over.

Tokage bursts through the door. "You're all being escorted off—"

"Let's get away from this asshole," says Juuzou, appearing in front of Mutsuki. "Not long until he goes down too, Mucchan. I promise." Juuzou glares over his shoulder at Tokage and laces his hand with Hanbee's. "My friend Yuu may or may not be attacking both their cars again. They're going down. I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Urie's rage gets the best of him and Ui confronts a nightmare.


	25. Fair is Foul, Foul is Fair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

Ui grits his teeth as they march across campus, the wind cutting at their faces. Indigo dusk darkens the campus, turning the lake a deep black. Hairu holds onto him.

"I can't believe they were sitting on information like this," Ui gripes.

"Well, they didn't have proof," Kirishima says quietly, tightening her coat around her.

"So?" Ui stares incredulously at her. "They still should have—"

"What? Spread rumors?" Kirishima demands.

"You just don't want to admit your boyfriend fucked up," says Ui. Hairu winces.

Kirishima's eyes flash, and it strangely strikes Ui like relief. "Tell me, Ui Koori, Mr. Priss, do you have no things in your life you look back on and think _if only_ about?"

Ui gulps. He still can't bring himself to accept this. "If something had happened—"

"Something _might_ have happened," interrupts Takizawa, balling his fists. He's practically sprinting. "To Akira. And I—"

"We'll—" Kirishima starts.

"What does she even matter to you?" Takizawa snaps. "Are you just coming along because you want to atone for what you did to her father?"

Hairu groans. Ui bites his lip.

"You're one to talk," retorts Kirishima, fire sizzling in her tone, fire that reminds Ui of the person he's heard rumors about, the person who shouted at Mado, who told him off and it was all true in the end, wasn't it? What Kirishima said to him. It was all fucking true in the end.

But did it matter? Could truth itself erode the guilt clearly etched on Kirishima's face?

Evidently not. Ui gulps.

They all fall silent as the science building looms up ahead. Hairu narrows her eyes. "I'm the one who works in his lab. We should split up. Takizawa, you and Kirishima should take the first and second floors, and the basement. Koori, you and I the third and fourth floors. Kanou's lab's on the third floor." She pulls out her phone.

"Good idea," Ui says, catching on. He dials Takizawa. "Stay on the line."

Kirishima and Takizawa look at each other with mistrust, eyebrows swooped down and lips turned in scowls. But they have no choice. They all want to make sure Akira's okay.

 _We're dealing with a mass murderer here._ Ui shivers as the door creaks open. Who wanted to assassinate Tsuneyoshi. Ui can't necessarily fault him there. If he'd done to Hairu what he did to Rize, Ui would want to kill him with his own hands.

But how far is it okay to take the pursuit of truth, and justice?

Kirishima and Takizawa dart down the hallway. Hairu pulls Ui up the stairs, tiptoeing fast. Ui's heart hammers inside his chest. He doesn't want to risk Hairu. But she's the one pulling him.

What if a bomb goes off? What if she loses her head? Ui shudders at the thought. _I don't want to be a hero if it means I lose Hairu._

And he understands how so many people—Sasaki, Arima, and all the jerks who knew about Tsuneyoshi—did nothing. They stood to lose precious things. And yet… Ui steps forward again and again. He clutches Hairu's hand so tightly he's afraid he'll hurt her.

Hairu draws to a stop outside the lab. The lights are off. She swipes her ID, and the door buzzes to let them in.

Ui shoves his way in in front of her. She scowls at him. He flicks on the light. Kanou's office is unlocked, and the light on, but nobody there.

Hairu's gaze latches onto a hood at the end. She lets out a shriek.

"Quiet!" Ui yelps, flapping his hands. And then he catches sight of the same object, just lying on the hood, and he can't breathe, air cuts at his windpipe, rude and cold and rough. "That's a—"

"A bomb," Hairu whispers. She grabs her phone and snaps a photo. "I'm sending this to Arima and telling him to take it to the cops."

"Did you hear that?" Ui barks into his phone.

"Yeah," wheezes Takizawa. "No sign of her on the first floor—we're headed to the basement."

* * *

Akira gives up after screaming and kicking the door to this basement closet for God knows how long. It's probably only ten minutes, but panic shoots through her. Kanou marched her down the stairs and locked her in a janitor's closet.

Akira gropes through the dark, straining to listen to see if anyone, anyone, might be coming. But all she hears is the whirs of machines.

Her hands close around something round and narrow. A broom handle. Akira grabs it and slams it against the door. Again and again and again. Sweat beads the back of her neck. Forget the concert. She has no idea if Kanou was diffusing or putting the finishing touches on a bomb. But there's no way he plans to let her live. He killed all of those people. Urie Mikito. Yoshimura Kuzen. Shinohara—it's all on him.

And Tsuneyoshi. Akira grits her teeth. _Dad, Daddy, did you know that when you didn't turn him in, it might end up costing me my life?_

She doesn't want to die. She loves Seidou. He loves her. She wants to kiss him again. She wants to wake up with him next to her, feel him roll over and jab her awake with his knobby knees as he sleeps like an eggbeater. He sees her. He doesn't see Mado's daughter. He sees her, Akira.

And that's all she's ever wanted. A sob rises in her throat. _Please, God, Dad, I don't want to die here._

_I'm scared._

She only said that to her father once, when thunder cracked above and Mom was gone. _Daddy, I'm scared._

_You've got no reason to be, Akira. I'm here._

But he's not.

But she is. Akira glances at the broom handle. She still can't fucking see. But her father used to take her to the gym with him. She used to work out with him.

 _I'm not letting your mistakes drown me, Dad. I'm breaking out of here._ He wasn't all bad, and both versions of her father—her father himself, a complex person—filter down into her life, into this day, into this moment. Akira bites her lip. Blood, tangy, fills her mouth.

Here she goes. She slams the broom handle against the lock. It shudders. Again. Akira raises the broom. Blood roars in her skull. She slings it down. Again. Again. Again. She doesn't care if Kanou hears her now—she'll hit him if she has to, just like Mutsuki, just like Mustuki felt—

The lock clatters to the ground. Akira gulps. She kicks the door open, broom in hand.

" _Akira!"_

She whirls. Seidou runs towards her, dressed in a suit. Kirishima's behind him, babbling into a phone. "Kanou's got a bomb!" Akira screams.

"We know!" Seidou shouts, grabbing her. "Hairu and Ui are—oh God, you're okay, you're okay, I was so fucking scared, Akira—"

"He locked me in there—he threatened to dump HF on me—where is he?" gasps Akira. She clings to him, shaking. He presses his lips against hers, and she realizes that he's crying, face wet and sticky from tears.

"I didn't want to lose you," Seidou whispers. "I'm—I couldn't—I understand now—"

"Thank you," Akira ekes out. _You came for me_. He looks at the dented broom handle in her hands and smiles.

"Hey!" calls Ui's voice as he and Hairu skid into the basement.

"Akira!" shrieks Hairu. Akira blinks. She had no idea she mattered at all to the pink-haired girl.

"Hairu just sent the picture to Arima. We need to get the hell out of here, _now_ —"

"No," says a voice. "You're not going anywhere."

* * *

"He killed my dad," Urie whispers. The words still don't sound real. They sound like a child's dream, like a line from a story, from a movie, by a hero or something, not a student like him, standing there trapped behind a stage and completely, completely helpless.

Mutsuki glances over at him. His face—green hair, tawny skin, soft eyes—blur. Urie's hands shake. He can barely breathe.

"Urie?" ventures Mutsuki.

"We're almost out of time," hisses Amon to Arima, jostling the crowd of performers. "We're going to have to begin, or else—"

"We can go," volunteers Itori, that weird drama professor. "Switch up the order a little bit. I'm sure you can come up with some excuse, Professor Amon." She winks, tossing her long red hair over her shoulder.

Amon gulps. He nods.

"How long is your skit?" Arima demands.

"Long enough," says Itori.

"Numbers!"

"It's a half hour, Kishou," Eto says, prying herself off the wall. Bored, she checks her nails.

A half hour. Urie grits his teeth. He slips out towards the back, away from Mutsuki.

_Kanou killed my dad._

Urie had a class with him. He sat in that man's classroom, took notes on his words, took his tests and submitted his knowledge to be judged and graded by that murderous _asshole_. He slips towards the door. He pushes it open. Wind cuts at his face like a cold knife. He jogs, air scraping his throat.

_Dad, why?_

_Kanou, why?_

Even if he had a good reason. Urie could stab him. Poison him. If he hurt Akira—

" _Urie Kuki!"_

He turns. A leaf, blown helplessly through the wind, smacks him in the face. Urie bats it away.

Mutsuki struggles towards him, hair flying around his face. He tightens his coat around him. "Don't do that!"

"Huh?' Urie glares. He doesn't want to—he has to—

"Urie," interrupts another voice. Saiko, Hsiao clutching her hand. Aura Shinsanpei and Higemaru Touma, both ducking to brace themselves against the roaring wind.

"You heard them," Urie rasps. "He—killed my dad."

"And so what?" demands Hsiao. "You think you can take him down all by yourself? You work out, Urie, but I'm pretty sure I could still kick your ass."

"They don't even have proof," offers Higemaru.

"I don't care!" Urie screams. Mutsuki just looks at him, eyes wide. "Do you—do you have any idea what it's like to wake up knowing that your dad is dead and to go to sleep at night knowing his killer is out there? Do you have any idea what it's like to not have him around for all the milestones he promised—he promised to be around for?" Urie's voice cracks.

" _When you graduate, we'll celebrate together," Dad promised. "We'll take a trip, just you and me."_

_Liar._

_You ruined my dad, Kanou_ , Urie thinks. He clenches his fists. His chest aches.

"I want to confront him too," says Aura. "Deck him. For what he did to my aunt—she lost her legs, and it's all his—"

"Ew, shut up," says Hsiao.

"Stop it!" screams Saiko, clasping her hands over her ears. "Both of you—Urie—Kuki—what do you gain if you confront him?"

"What do I gain by just standing and waiting?" Urie screams. "I want to look him in the eyes—I want to ask him why—I need to—that bastard—"

"Urie." He looks up. Mutsuki moves towards him, arms stretched out. "Urie, please."

Saiko grabs him from behind, and Mutsuki from the front. "Nothing's going to change it," Mutsuki says, voice muffled. "He's dead."

"Stop it!" Urie shouts, struggling. He feels crushed. They're too warm. "I know—I know he's dead—why are you being so stupid?"

Mutsuki takes his cheeks in his hands. "He's dead, and we're here. Fuck Kanou. Fuck Saeki. You throwing everything away just to go and attack him—you'll just wind up in trouble, and I don't want that—I don't want to lose you. You would go to him, if you could, wouldn't you? If you knew, you would grab him." Mutsuki tightens his grip around Urie. "And you wouldn't let him go, because you wouldn't want to risk losing him." Mutsuki's voice catches. "I don't want him to hurt you. Not you, Kuki, not you, Shinsanpei."

Urie grits his teeth. "I—"

Mutsuki releases him. "Please don't go, Urie."

_Shirazu._

_Dad._

_Mutsuki._

His head lurches forward, but rocks weigh his stomach down.

* * *

Urie looks at Mutsuki. And then he breaks away from Saiko and runs on, Aura on his heels.

"Fuck," says Hsiao. Saiko drops her face to her hands.

 _No. I'm not losing anyone again._ Shirazu flashes in Mutsuki's mind. He takes off, racing after them.

"Mucchan!" Saiko calls, but Mutsuki still runs. _Urie, get back here!_

 _Please._ Mutsuki gulps in air. He stumbles over a rock as he rounds a bend, tripping. "Ow!" His palms sting as he slams into the pavement. _How am I going to play piano now?_

"Aren't you supposed to be in the concert?" comes a voice, slithering from behind Mutsuki like a nightmare.

He springs to his feet, grasping the rock. "Stay away!" _Why am I always chasing dreams that won't come back? Urie, I thought you were real. Urie, why?_

Saeki holds his hands up. "I'm merely asking, Tooru." His eyes swipe Mutsuki up and down. "You look beautiful."

Mutsuki shakes. His stomach clenches. _I—_

_Urie, if you just listened... Urie, I can't keep chasing and walk into nightmares. I love you, but why wasn't it enough?_

"Fuck you!"

Mutsuki blinks. Urie runs out from around the bend. He pulls back his fist and sends it slamming over Saeki's face. "Get the fuck away from him!"

"Urie?" Mutsuki croaks. _You came back?_

Aura appears behind him, and Saiko, Hsiao, and Higemaru from the opposite side. They close in around the man, blocking Mutsuki from his view. Urie scrambles over to Mutsuki. His face crumples. "I'm sorry, Tooru—I—"

"Why did you go?" Mutsuki chokes out.

"I wanted—I got around the bend and I—" Urie sucks in his breath. He drops his head. "I'm always prioritizing myself—over you—and it's not fair." His forehead presses into Mutsuki's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I—you matter too."

Mutsuki gulps. _You really do love me, don't you?_

_Why? I don't deserve it._

A smack echoes through the air. Mutsuki jumps. Urie whirls. Hsiao kicks Saeki across the path. "I know you," she seethes. "You—just like my father—"

"Go, Uribo, Mucchan," Saiko says, glaring at Saeki as he scrambles to his feet. He pulls out what must be mace, only for Hsiao to rip it out of his hands and spray it in his eyes. Mutsuki's jaw drops.

"Fuck you," says Hsiao, voice shaking.

Saeki howls. Hsiao tosses the can to the ground and turns around. "I have a concert to get to, and so does Mutsuki, thank you. Crawl back into the ditch you came from. You still have a job, but not for long. Karma will catch up with you, you prick."

"Don't look at him," Urie says. "You don't have to." He wraps Mutsuki in his arms, steering him away from the man, steering him back towards the concert hall.

"My phone just buzzed," says Higemaru, holding it up as they rush across campus. According to Mutsuki's watch, they have twenty minutes still. "Juuzou says Ui says they found Akira, but to call the police."

"Should we go?" demands Aura.

"Hey!" bellows a voice. Tokage charges at them. "You kids—"

This time, Mutsuki yanks himself away from Urie to glare at him. "I'm not listening to you, Tokage! We're not."

"You just assaulted a security guard!" shouts Tokage, kneeling on the ground by Saeki.

"How many cats have you killed? How many animals? How many people have you let Saeki attack?" Mutsuki yells. Urie's hand grips his shoulder.

"You're going down," Saiko says.

"Go to hell," says Aura. "Or come at us. I _dare_ you."

"Please shut up," requests Higemaru.

"Let's get back," Urie says, grasping Mutsuki's hand.

* * *

"Fuck," says Seidou. He moves in front of Akira, but she pushes her way to stand by his side. Hairu clasps Ui's hand. Kirishima grabs a nearby mop, raising it. Ui's heart pounds. All he hears is blood rushing through his brain, his thoughts, feels Hairu against him, Hairu warm, the dust—

"You killed all those people," Hairu croaks out. "Why?"

"The meeting was supposed to end earlier than it did," Seidou says. "Right?"

Kanou pulls out a bottle. Ui gulps. That fucking acid. He's not risking that kind of agonizing death for any of them. And he's never felt so helpless. "Right," Kanou confirms.

"Don't you feel badly?" Hairu demands. Her voice shakes.

"No, Ihei, I don't," Kanou says, addressing her. "Tsuneyoshi is a monster."

"We all agree on that," says Seidou.

"Do you?" asks Kanou, stepping towards them. Ui refuses to back up. Hairu tightens her grip. The dim lighting sets the room in an eerie glow. Water drips from a pipe behind them. "Do you really? Do you think that publishing an article and getting him severed from his job will give his victims an ounce of satisfaction?" He looks directly at Hairu.

"I think so," Hairu ekes out. "I mean, at least his reputation is—"

"It can't fix anything," Kanou interrupts. "Look at Saeki. Look at Mutsuki. You think same public shaming can make up for all the lives Washuu's ruined?"

"He has _not_ ruined Mutsuki's life," Hairu barks.

"He hurt him."

Hairu gulps. Ui grits his teeth. "So how are you any better? Killing innocent—"

"No one's innocent."

"What was your plan? To blow him up tonight with everyone inside the concert hall?" demands Akira. She clutches the broom handle.

"He's preventing the school from being all it could be," says Kanou. "And no. I planned to only end his life, and the board's, tonight."

"So that's your game? You don't give a fuck about the lives he hurt. You only care about the school?" Ui's voice rises. No wonder Hairu called Kanou a scumbag.

Kanou looks at him like he's a cockroach. "They're not mutually exclusive. A decent school needs healthy minds. Research needs funding, and no one wants to fund a school run by a predator."

"You're a monster," says Kirishima.

"Am I?" croons Kanou. "Then what are you? What is your beloved Kaneki?"

"Monsters who feel remorse," Akira interjects. "So, people."

A clapping sound echoes. Kanou spins.

"Enjoyed getting that on tape," exclaims Tsukiyama Shuu. Of all people. He saunters towards Kanou, dressed in a designer silk suit. "Mm. Prison. How do you think you'll be able to help people in prison? And think of the hideous uniforms!" He tosses a phone over his shoulder.

Karren von Rosewald catches it. She meets Ui's eyes and smirks, then turns back to Kanou. "You're a narcissist who's deluded himself into thinking he's acting for the greater good. You really just want what you want without a care for anyone else. What about their families?"

"What about Urie Kuki, or Suzuya Juuzou?" Seidou adds.

"I don't know who those are," says Karren, still glaring at Kanou. "But let me tell you, dickhead. Losing your family is the loneliest feeling. There's nothing that can justify it. You're just a psychopathic—"

A crack echoes. Kanou crumples to the ground. Ui blinks.

Standing behind Kanou is Kurona Yasuhisa, with a crowbar. "I can't say that didn't feel satisfying," she says.

"Kuro!" cries out Akira.

Hairu sags in relief.

"Acid didn't spill on him, too bad," remarks Tsukiyama. "Anyways. We called the police." Until they get here, how about we lock him in the broom closet? Without brooms, of course."

"You texted them," says Ui, realizing. He turns to Kirishima. He never thought he would be grateful to Tsukiyama Shuu. He wraps his arm around Hairu. _She's okay. We're okay._

"You're no monster," Akira says. "Or maybe you were. But right now you helped save us."

Kirishima blinks. "I—suppose."

Karren and Kurona grab Kanou by his shoulders and legs, hauling him towards the closet. Ui catches a glimpse of Tsukiyama brushing his fingers against Karren's shoulders.

"Yes, we're dating," says Tsukiyama. "Who knew? You might actually have been useful for once, Ui Koori."

"The feeling of astonishment is mutual," Ui replies. Hairu snorts.

"You guys have like seven minutes until your concert," says Tsukiyama. "Let's take my golf cart. You didn't think I would walk here, did you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter :)


	26. Journeys End in Lovers Meeting

Ui staggers backstage. Hirako rushes over, face white. "We're up in two minutes!"

"That's great," says Seidou, clapping him on the shoulder. "Kanou's just been arrested. He also tried to blow everyone up and poison everyone with HF so that happened."

Ui is too tired to bother explaining.

"What the what?" shouts Sasaki.

"I'm fine, Ken," says Kirishima, appearing. "Break a leg." She winks.

"I'm sorry, but what?" demands Arima. "I need to know what happened."

"We're all alive," says Hairu dryly. "And Kanou's going to jail."

Urie heaves a sigh. Aura doubles over, resting his head on his knees. Hairu glances at Ui, her face uncertain.

"It didn't have to come to this," Ui manages to say to Arima. "If you'd just turned in Tsuneyoshi earlier. If you'd consulted with Eto earlier, you could have done so, but you won't open up, you won't trust anyone, and you should."

"Is this really the time?" asks Sasaki—Kaneki.

"When will the time be?" Ui asks, shaking his hands out. "I don't want to be silent in hopes of a better time." He grits his teeth. Fury still builds inside him. All these kids—they're so—

"It's not really shocking," says Hairu quietly. "I was—silent about it too."

"You didn't know as much," Ui counters.

Hairu lifts her face. "I should have."

"Shio, Rikai, and Yusa are out there," whispers Arima, shoulders slumping. "I know, Ui. I know I'm no better than Yoshitoki, than Mado Kureo. Not to the people who got hurt in the meantime. Which is why I'm retiring."

"Oh, so you're going to be a coward?" snarls Ui. "That doesn't solve anything!"

"No." Arima looks at Ui, at Hairu. "I'm going to take in Yusa, Shio, and Rikai. They're the only kids underage right now. And I'm going to raise them and try to give them the lives they deserve, without the pressures and the secrets."

Hairu flings herself at him, wrapping him in an embrace. Arima stiffens, cringing. And then he relaxes at the warning look on Ui's face.  _Let her hug you._

Hairu pulls away from Arima and turns back to him.

_She's choosing me._

_I don't deserve her._

Ui reaches out to brush pink stands off her face as Eto ducks backstage, and they begin to file out. The notes fill the air, beautiful and calm. Listening to Hairu play is like a dream. Ui and the other TAs are next, after Amon gives a speech first.

About Mado Kureo. Ui worries his lip. He glances at Akira. Seidou rests his chin on the top of her head. Ui focuses on the music, on Hairu's music, all the kids. The notes soar, and he feels himself carried away, just like that time he was a child, listening with his parents, the day before he would beg for lessons.

The notes taper off, and Ui swallows. Amon steps onto the stage, shoving his papers into his pocket.  _Did he memorize it? Damn._

But no. Instead, Amon addresses the elephant in the room. "I'm sure you all saw the news today."

Akira's jaw drops.

"What is he doing?" whispers Kaneki.

"Telling the truth," says Seidou.

"No doubt our school will face trying times," Amon says. "As it should. Maybe it won't be around by the tenth anniversary."

"He's totally winging it," whispers Seidou. "Wow."

"Anyways," says Amon. "I hope we won't forget that sometimes the people we looked up to can have hid awful things from us. And we have to face that, because denying it doesn't make it go away. But the reason the school exists is the students—the ones who were just out here performing and impressing us all. They're innocent in all of this, and even though the school itself might be toxic, they're not. At least, they don't have to be." He clears his throat. "That's all."

"Our turn," says Akira.

Ui swallows. He won't play to impress parents who will never hear it, not tonight. He'll play his best not to impress an imperfect mentor, but for her. Because he loves her, and he knows she loves music, and he—he loves music too, and she'll be listening to him too, and even if he messes up, it'll be beautiful.

* * *

_We did it._

Urie exhales. Mutsuki's eyes glisten in excitement. Urie sends him and Saiko both thumbs-ups. They grin.

They did it, and Kanou's going to prison. Finally, there will be justice. Hopefully. Urie fiddles with the papers containing his speech, rubbing his thumbs against the corners.

_Would you be proud of me, Dad?_

Amon speaks, and it's completely off-script. Urie's eyes bug out. Mutsuki takes his hand as they take their seats, and he looks at Urie, and he knows what Urie's thinking, what he's wondering.

_I almost left you again._

_I'm not trustworthy._

_I'm not proud of myself. But I want to be._

He looks down at his script again, at the words scrawled across it. He talks about his dad and how he used to watch him play, how his father encouraged him to balance music with work, and how even if he didn't ultimately go into it music was still a beautiful addition to life, how blessed he was to take musicology this semester.

Urie does feel blessed to have taken musicology. But it isn't because of the music.

"You'll do great," Higemaru whispers to Urie as Amon leaves the stage, and the TAs come out. Urie's due to speak between the TAs and Amon and Arima, who both have solos.

"Do what you want to do," Mutsuki whispers in his ear, breath tickling. Urie sucks in his breath. Mutsuki settles his head against Urie's shoulder.

_I don't deserve you. Not after that shit I almost pulled._

But Mutsuki is still here. Kanou isn't. His father isn't.

When the TAs finish, Urie's legs, trembling, march him up to the stage. His mouth feels dry. He looks at the words on the paper. Manufactured. To Yoshitoki's liking and approval. Matsuri's, too.

_I don't want to be like you._

Urie reads off the words on the page at first. "My father, Urie Mikito…" At the end of the first paragraph, they catch in his throat, though.

_Oh no. Not here._

Urie looks out at the sea of faces staring at him. He can't make out Mutsuki's; the lights are too bright. But he knows he's there, watching Urie, rooting for him, even if he can't see him.

Urie clears his throat. "When my dad died, I thought—I was alone. I thought it was the way it was, and that was okay. I didn't realize—"  _It was killing me._ "I didn't want to be alone."  _Dad, why did you die?_

He remembers punching Mutsuki in the bathroom. "It's painful being alone," Urie says. "It's agonizing. And I—in my musicology class, my roommate, Shirazu Ginshi, and my friends Yonebayashi, Hsiao, Aura, Higemaru, and my—now boyfriend—Mutsuki Tooru, I wasn't alone. Because they were there. Not just in class, but outside of it. Music connected us, but we grew beyond that. They showed me what it meant to have a family again, which I didn't think was possible. I lost my father here, five years ago today, but I also found another family here." He steps back. "Thank you."

And he wants to disappear now. Except he doesn't want to leave Mutsuki alone.

Urie scrambles down the steps and into Mutsuki's arms.

* * *

Mutsuki reaches for Urie when he comes off the stage.  _I'm your family? We're your family?_

He never believed Urie would ever admit something like that, much less to a crowd when he could be talking about his father instead. But he just did.

"We love you, Urie," Saiko proclaims. His face reddens.

 _You came back_.  _And you want me._

His whole life Mutsuki just wanted to feel wanted. To feel as if he had the right to exist just by being born, instead of having to earn it through praise and through placation and telling people what they wanted to hear because sometimes, sometimes that would make it stop.

But Urie's seen him at his worst. He knows what he did to his parents, and he's still choosing Mutsuki, still holding him. He doesn't see Mutsuki as broken, and Mutsuki can't understand why, but it's freeing.

He thinks of his own parents, dead. He does feel sorry for what he did to them. But he's not sorry that they're not here.

" _How can I ever make it up?" Mutsuki asked the morning after he had sex with Urie for the first time, when he woke up with his body still entwined around Urie's. "What I did. No one will ever forgive me."_

" _They're not here," Urie replied drowsily, and Mutsuki's chest tightened._

" _But you are," Urie added, rolling over to face Mutsuki. "You are, and I'm glad."_

This cycle—it's not for him. He thinks of Shirazu.

_I miss you._

_Are you watching us now?_ He cranes his neck, looking up at the elaborately carved ceilings and golden chandeliers. Arima starts to play violin notes that send chills down Mutsuki's spine at their sheer beauty.

_Tell my brother I'm sorry._

Mutsuki looks back at the stage. Urie, Saiko, Hsiao, Hige, Aura—they're all riveted to Arima's performance. Everyone is.

It's beautiful.

Mutsuki squeezes Urie's hand. The grotesque, grimy sensation constantly following him around washes away, dripping off with every note. He remembers Shirazu Haru, lying in a hospital. All their money goes towards supporting her.

But that's not all support is, is it? Mutsuki's father used to say that providing a roof over his head and food on the table—sometimes—earned him the title of a great father. And it was all bullshit.  _You were evil._

"Urie," Mutsuki whispers, breaking the spell. Urie looks at him. Not annoyed. "We should visit Haru—Shirazu's sister. Tomorrow. Maybe we can play for her."

Urie smiles.

* * *

It's over.

Akira exhales, hand clinging to Seidou's. It's over, the music's stopped and voices rises all throughout the audience, and they're alive.

Amon holds his phone aloft. "Kanou's been charged. And Tokage and Saeki are being placed on investigative leave."

"What does  _that_  mean?" demands Seidou.

"It's a step," Amon says. "They probably won't be back."

Akira sighs. It doesn't feel like quite enough. But it's a start. She watches as Touka runs up to Kaneki, grabbing him by the chin and kissing him. She lifts her head, spotting Akira, and smiles.

Akira smiles back. She's grateful that Amon didn't share much about her father. She didn't want him to.

"Maybe next semester will be a little less insane," Seidou jokes.

"Maybe," says Amon. "Although who knows." He lets out his breath, stuffing his fists in the pockets of his pants. "I'm going away during the break. I need to—visit someone in prison."

Akira turns to him. "Donato."

Amon shrugs. "Yeah." He lets out a sigh. "I've avoided him too long. At the very least, I want—closure with him."

Akira nods. She spots Mutsuki, Urie, Saiko, and their friends laughing together. Mutsuki's eyes shine, and he grabs Urie's hands, dancing like he's actually happy.

"Let us know if we can support you," says Seidou.

Amon manages a small smile. The golden light from the chandeliers cascades over his face. "Thank you." He reaches out and claps one hand on Akira's shoulder and one on Seidou's. "I'm lucky to have you both as friends. And I'm grateful. And I'm happy you two have finally figured things out."

 _You don't have to do that,_  Akira thinks. Though maybe he really is happy for them. Akira nods at him. Seidou takes her hand.

In the distance, Tsukiyama approaches Kaneki. He holds out his hand, and Kaneki embraces him. But Tsukiyama plants a kiss on Karren's temple. Akira's never met those two before tonight, but she basically owes them her life. Behind them, Eto chortles as she climbs on a chair, mussing Arima's hair like a grade-schooler. Ui stands with his arm around Hairu's waist, and it looks as if Hairu's copping a feel. U's face burns. Akira snickers.

"Hey," a voice says behind Akira. She whirls around.

Fueguchi Hinami stands there, hands clasped in front of her. Kirishima Ayato crosses his arms behind her, scowling at them all as if daring them to ruin things, to test him.

"Hello," says Amon. Akira can't bring herself to speak.

Hinami looks first at Amon, and then her soft brown gaze focuses on Akira. She swallows. She holds out her hand.

Akira stares at it, and then reaches for it. Shame presses in around her.

"My father," begins Hinami, before stopping. Akira sucks in her breath. "My father would be proud. Of what you did. Turning him in."

Akira's jaw falls open. Seidou swears, pushing his hair back.

 _I want to be like you someday_ , Akira thinks, tears filling her eyes.  _You—you're so strong, and I don't deserve it._  "This school didn't deserve your father, and it doesn't deserve you, but damn is it lucky to have you."

Hinami's eyes widen. She smiles. Ayato nods.

Behind her, Hakatori, that Goth girl from :re, lunges at Higemaru, who swoops her up in an embrace. Takeomi and Yoriko chat with Urie and Mutsuki, and Juuzou takes Hanbee's hand, leading him outside, saying something about visiting Shinohara.

Kurona watches him go, and when Akira catches her eye, she waves.

"Do you think she can be reinstated?" Akira wonders.

"I asked already," says Seidou. "She says she doesn't want to be. But she's applying to other schools."

"Oh." Akira nods. The tattooed man from :re kisses a pale-haired man who stands behind Touka. Hinami and Ayato head over to them.

"Maybe you two will wind up at the same place next year," Seidou muses.

"Maybe." Akira laughs. "That'd be cool." A white-haired man rolls his eyes as Eto jumps up and down, bothering Arima. And beside them, Furuta and Rize stand, his hand clasping hers.

"Huh," Seidou remarks. "Think there's hope for them?"

"Maybe," Akira says.

Nagachika Hideyoshi approaches Kaneki, congratulating him. Akira's eyes trace the memorial photographs of the lives lost in the explosion, in two men's greed and complete disregard for the lives of others, even if their ends were different. But those men are ruined, and they—they're all here, and the dead aren't forgotten, and as Mutsuki laughs, she thinks that neither are the living. "Yeah. There's hope."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this! And thank you to my friend linkzeldi for helping me brainstorm ideas, especially for the Seiaki parts.

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter: Mutsuki tries to escape rumors and Akira deals with a problem student.


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